Nixie
by NidrianRuuthane
Summary: Don discovers that a past one night stand with a dangerous woman now leaves him with a neglected six year old daughter. Note: epilogue may or may not be pending...
1. Prologue: Summer in the City

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: ** The Numb3rs characters aren't mine; any other characters are all mine however. Allllll Miiiiine :-)

**Summary:** Don discovers that a past one-night stand with a dangerous woman now leaves him with a neglected six-year-old daughter. Don-centric WIP

**A/N:** I apologize for the slight delay; I, ah, actually had this started and ready to post the prologue a few days ago but I ah, got busted by FanFiction Admin for my "Reviewer Vote" section at the end of 'Jadie'—Not allowed to do THAT anymore—My bad at any rate; I read it in the guidelines and just had a serious brain fart. Soooo my new story submission was temporarily, ahem, locked. Now it's all good though; I won't make the same mistake twice! Anyway I set the rating at T for this fic; just to be safe—Also please R&R, any thoughts, opinions and suggestions, as well constructive criticism are much appreciated.

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**Prologue: Summer in the City** _(Joe Cocker)_

The day was arid and hot as Special Agent Don Eppes tapped his fingers to the beat of Joe Cocker's "Summer in the City" on his steering wheel as he sat at the red light. He was wearing a polo t-shirt with his sunglasses on to deflect the sun's glaring rays. The windows were rolled down despite the heat and Don, for once, had the radio turned up. It was his day off, after all.

The palm trees swung lazily back in forth in the summer breeze while Don hummed along with a few of the words; He smiled as he thought of what some people would say if they heard him listening to this song. He didn't listen to music often, but there were just a few certain songs that Don just couldn't help but love.

Don was singing out loud bythe time the green light came. He was terribly off key and he knew it, but the song seemed so appropriate for the day that he just couldn't help himself.

It was one of those songs that just made you feel like you were on top of the world, the coolest guy around, and Don needed that feeling, especially after closing up the last case. It had been a brutal case—a violent serial rapist that killed his victims in an absolutely mortifying manner. Don was still in what he thought of as the 'scrubbing out the inside of his brain' phase. Sometimes the gory images would just come to him. It had happened to him after other cases before but after this one had been particularly bad.

So, Don had decided that he needed a day off. Lord knew; he had enough vacation days saved up as it was—he might as well use one now and again.

Don pushed thoughts of the case from his mind. He was on his way back to his apartment from the grocery store; his fridge had been far worse than Old Mother Hubbard's ever thought of being and _that_ was truly saying something. Don had briefly thought of just mooching a meal at his brother's house, but had decided against it. As good a mood as he felt like he was in right now, that was bound to fade before the evening came and he probably would be terrible company. He didn't want to inflict his quasi-depression on his family.

He pulled up to the apartment building and parked as the song ended; he was almost to his apartment door when his cell phone rang. Don glanced at the caller ID and frowned at the unfamiliar number. He fumbled with his keys and the groceries and contemplated not answering it;_ if it's important they'll leave a message_, Don thought. As he opened the door Don lost his grip on the grocery bag and he managed to pitch the groceries all over the floor. Don shook his head in disgust at himself and then chuckled at his own clumsiness. Don noticed his cell phone was _still_ ringing and Don decided to go ahead and answer it anyway.

_What the hell, _he thought, _it's not like it can be anything too terrible— _And with that, he answered the phone.

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A/N: Ah just a bit of intro fluff; it gets more serious in chapter one. R&R!


	2. Invisible Wounds

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, blah blah blah. However any characters you don't recognize are all mine—nyah nyah :-P

**Summary:** Don discovers that a past one-night stand with a dangerous woman now leaves him with a neglected six-year-old daughter. Don-centric WIP

A/N: Oh and like with my other stories, with official business type deals, such as Child Services, FBI procedures, ect ect—I include them randomly and probably botch the way they do things—keep in mind I'm going for dramatic effect as opposed to realism; I'll try to stay at least quasi-close but no guarantees.

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**Chapter One: Invisible Wounds **_(Fear Factory)_

"Eppes." Don answered his phone, still amused by his clumsiness and yet also extremely annoyed.

"Hello—Don Eppes? This is Agent Jack Wilson from the New York FBI office…if you aren't busy I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes…"

Don frowned; why was an agent from New York calling him?

"Sure, I've got time—Shoot," Don shrugged absentmindedly as he closed his apartment door and began to pick up the groceries that had been strewn across the floor.

"Do you happen to know a woman by the name of Miriam Wild?" Agent Wilson's voice asked tentatively.

Don froze; had he heard right? Miriam Wild? _Oh no…_

_The small dingy hotel room screamed cheap yet Don was too intoxicated to care as cold blue eyes stared at him hungrily, luring him into temptation like a moth is drawn into an all-consuming flame… _

"I uh…" Don started then swore softly, "Yeah I know her…unfortunately…what has she done?" Don sat down in the middle of his floor raking his hand through his hair. _Of all the things…_Don thought, _and on my day off to boot…_

"Can I assume you aren't on good terms with her then?"

"She…aw hell…" Don decided to swallow his pride and get the embarrassing story out of the way, "I had a one night stand with her after a really bad case—it was stupid—but I needed to forget about what had happened and she was ready to go. The next morning she had this idea that were going to be more than just one night of sex and I just looked at her like she was nuts—she got the message pretty quick—flipped out and tried to stab me with a knife…"

"Jesus…" Don could here the agent muttering faintly.

"So I got the hell out of there—I didn't tell anyone," Don grimaced, "I should have but I didn't…I was too embarrassed." Don stopped and rubbed his forehead—the memories that stirred up were…unpleasant… at best.

"How long ago was that?" The New Yorker asked.

"It was about…seven years ago? Something like that…in Quantico. So why exactly are you calling me if you don't mind me asking?" Don was confused—he didn't really see what any of this had to do with him.

"Well, Agent Eppes…we brought in Miriam Wild for being a part of a Human Trafficking Ring—we started to interrogate her when we discovered that she had a daughter who, in all likely-hood, witnessed a large amount of criminal activity and would make an invaluable witness. However, Child Services says we can't speak with her until we locate her other parent, if living, and go from there. The girl is severely neglected—she barely speaks—she doesn't have any idea who her father is and when we questioned Ms Wild, she wasn't very forthcoming; until a short while ago…she gave us your name…"

Don sucked in a large breath…there was no way this could be happening to him. _One of the most embarrassing things that ever happened to me…something I just want to forget…_

"Damn," Don muttered, "Do you think she's lying?" Don hoped she was. He didn't think he could handle raising a child—he didn't know anything about taking care of kids; he had no illusions about that.

"We aren't sure—look, what we'd like to do is have you come out here for a DNA test—we'll even tell your boss that we want to have you consult on a case for us since you are familiar with one of the perps—just in case the test comes back negative, so you won't have to worry about rumors—I had an, ah, experience that was similar and rumors were killer—I'd like to try to spare you any embarrassment... besides, any info that you know about Miriam Wild would help us out a lot…"

"I don't know much but whatever I do know, I'll tell you," Don paused, "How long do you want me to come out there for?"

"One week minimum, up to two months tops, if you do turn out to be the girl's father and we have her testify." Don thought it over. There wasn't any way he was going to get out of this. He could always say no but that would complicate their case unnecessarily and besides; Don wouldn't be able to stand not knowing whether the girl was his daughter or not. Anyway, even if she was his, he didn't have to take responsibility—he could always sign over custody and have her put in an orphanage or in foster care; as much as he hated the system he didn't think he would be a good enough father. _Damn, I'm getting ahead of myself…she might not even be mine…_

"Ok, I'll come," Don could hear the other agent let out a sigh in relief, "But I'm going to have to drive—It's the beginning of the summer and flights are going to be booked…"

Don stood up and grabbed a pen and paper as the other agent gave him directions for once he got into the city. Don hung up the phone after Agent Wilson profusely thanked him for being so cooperative and he sank down onto his couch. The groceries still lay all over the floor, forgotten and now completely unimportant. Don wasn't looking forward to the trip—first he was going to have to lie to his father and brother about why he was going, he was going to have to stretch the truth at the office, and he still was getting flashes from the recent gore-fest case.

Don thought about Miriam Wild—and what a terrible memory that was. It seemed odd to Don, how what happened still affected him so strongly. He had thought he was over that years ago…But when the New York agent mentioned her name Don had instantly felt all the muscles in his body tense. That experience had left invisible wounds beneath the surface: on his pride and on his confidence. _You can't fix what you don't know is there_, Don thought wryly.

Don sighed and pulled himself off the couch. He needed to pack; the sooner he got going, the sooner this mess would be over.

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	3. Fine Again

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own 'em, wish I did…you all know the routine.

A/N: OK Music has been some of my inspiration—like some songs mirror the tone I want to set in the chapter; so all the chapter titles are song titles I was going to put in song lyrics—well actually I did but I had to remove them cuz Admin doesn't tallow that anymore. ARGH!

Ps. I don't own any of these songs…Duh…

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**Chapter Two: Fine Again **_(Seether)_

Don stood at the entrance to the kitchen. It was in the evening, and his father was studiously cooking dinner, while Charlie was completely absorbed into one of his many projects, working rapidly at the kitchen table, papers everywhere. Neither of them had heard him come in.

"Hey." Don spoke, trying not to sound too depressed.

"Hey Donnie," Alan glanced briefly at Don, then did a double take as he spoke, "I didn't hear you come in…" Alan studied his eldest son. Don was wearing a plain white t-shirt, a pair of old blue jeans and tennis shoes. Alan raised his eyebrows. Don rarely dressed so casually—he practically lived in his suit.

"What's up?" Alan asked, as he noticed Don's expression was uncomfortable at best. Don fidgeted. He needed to be very careful on his choice of words—he didn't want to tell his father or Charlie about his past mistake and what it might mean now.

"I, uh, have to go to New York for a while…" Don shifted uncomfortably in the doorway as Charlie's head snapped up from his work.

"New York!" Both Alan and Charlie exclaimed, merely seconds apart.

"Yeah." Don shrugged and grimaced.

"What for?" Alan asked, concern written across his face. There was something about the way that Don was behaving that was setting off tiny alarms in Alan's brain.

"I…" Don began; a small part of him desperately wanted to just blurt out the truth and get it over with—_Well, you see I banged this psychotic woman about seven years ago and now I have to go to New York because she's been arrested and I have to find out if her daughter is my illegitimate child…no big deal…_Instead of the truth however, Don gave them a carefully crafted white lie—at least in Don's mind that's what it was.

"I have to go consult on a case they have—I'm familiar with one of their suspects and they asked me to come out." Don was amazed at how smooth the lie came out and he prayed that they wouldn't be suspicious. Alan's eyes narrowed for a moment and Don felt his heart jump in his chest—Alan had always been the one to catch him in a lie when he was a kid—but no, the expression left his face, replaced with a far more manageable resigned look.

"How long?" Charlie said; his face gave Don the impression of a wounded puppy.

"I'm not sure," Don folded his arms across his chest, "Anywhere from as little as a week to up to two months…"

"Two months!" Alan exclaimed, "Isn't that a bit much?"

"It depends on how smooth things go…" Don shrugged hoping his father wouldn't press the issue.

"Are you flying?" Charlie asked.

"No, I have to drive, flights are all booked because it's the beginning of summer."

"When are you leaving?" Alan inquired, not at all pleased by the news.

"Um…now…ish…." Don gave an apologetic look as both Charlie and Alan started, incredulous. "I have to get there as soon as possible…" Don held out his hands helplessly.

"I need to uh, get going." Don pointed haplessly at the door behind him, when Charlie and Alan made no move. Alan snapped out of his thoughts first and spoke.

"You be careful alright? Drive safely." Alan put on his fatherly stern look and Don smiled in relief.

"Sure thing Dad, I'll call you guys as soon as I get there ok?"

"Ok." Both Alan and Charlie nodded, as Don began to walk towards the front door, the other two men followed behind him.

"I'll be back before you know it, I'll see you two soon enough."

"I want to hear from you at least once a week, if it takes a long time, got it?" Alan warned and Don smiled.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll call…"

"See you soon Don." Charlie said and put on a forced smile. Don knew he was worried about Don not coming back and falling out of contact again. It was always a fear, for both of them, now.

"Sure thing buddy." Don gave Charlie a grin and walked out the front door, waving goodbye as he got in his SUV.

Alan and Charlie waved as Don drove away, not knowing that Don would not be the same when he returned.

He would never be the same again and not even Don knew it.

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The night was considerably cooler as compared to the smoldering day. The warm air blasted Don and pulled at his white t-shirt as he sped down a lonely stretch of road. His windows were rolled all the way down and his radio blared some melancholy song that spoke to Don in some way that made his soul ache. Don leaned back in his seat—he'd been driving for a few hours now—the darkness comforted him, as it seemed to hide his own dark thoughts from himself.

Don put both his hands on the wheel, and slowly felt his foot increase pressure on the gas pedal, blurring the lines and the dark scenery.

65, 70, 75, 80, 85, 90

The red needle on the speedometer kept going up and Don felt his mind go blissfully blank. He speeding away and towards his problems at the same time, leaving him in blissful oblivion in between. Here on this lonely stretch of road he was no one, just someone going somewhere that didn't really matter. The sharp blasts of arid heat from the open windows caused Don's eyes to dry out and water, blurring his vision. It was all a blur.

Don let off the gas and let his vehicle coast and slowly the red needle fell. Here on the road, he could concentrate on nothing but his driving and he didn't have to think about all the troubles he was heading towards and all the ones he may have to return to.

When he stopped to sleep, it was well into the afternoon and he checked into some small hotel that had black wool curtains, allowing Don to believe that maybe it was still night, that his thoughts could still be hidden from him in the enfolding darkness.

And as he slipped into slumber, he wished fervently that maybe, in the morning, he simply would fail to wake. He would always have that dreaded memory of those cold blue eyes—it seemed to him that nothing was ever going to be 'fine' again.

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	4. I Feel So

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine—(Although…Santa, I swear I've been a good girl…Can I have the ownership of the Numb3rs characters? ….Pretty please?)

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**Chapter Three: I Feel So**_ (Box Car Racer)_

Don pulled into the truck rest stop, already feeling weary despite the fact he'd gotten at least eight hours sleep at the hotel. He glanced at his watch as he walked into the restroom. He'd only been driving a couple hours but it was already almost midnight. Don was rapidly approaching New York and the closer he got, the more the churning feeling in the pit of his stomach increased. He had talked to Jack on the phone right before he left the hotel, estimating that he'd be in New York at around one or two in the morning. Don figured that when he got in New York he could get a hotel and catch a few more hours sleep and come in to the FBI office at around six or seven and he'd told Jack as much.

Don turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face in a vain attempt to restore some wakefulness. He looked at the mirror that hung above the sink. He stared at his reflection, trying to find some answer that wasn't there.

He looked like hell.

His eyes were bloodshot, dried out from the heat and from having the windows rolled down while he drove. He wore a plain black t-shirt and the same worn blue jeans as the day before. Despite being basically clean clothes, he still had a rumpled and disheveled look. His hair was splayed out in all directions—he'd taken a quick shower at the hotel before he left but hadn't bothered even combing his hair—the hair-do he had now was the wind's work.

Don leaned forward, pressing his head against the cool surface of the mirror. What the hell was he doing? This was going to be a disaster; he knew it. He didn't know why he felt this way, just that he had some looming feeling that wretched and twisted his stomach in knots. He still felt tired despite all the sleep he had, but Don knew that it was because he hadn't slept _fitfully_. It was an uneasy slumber—the kind where you wake up more tired than when you went to sleep.

He had dreamt a memory.

She gazed at him with an icy gaze, smiling a smile that made Don's stomach flip-flop. She was so alluring and so terribly frightening at the same time. Don knew he should turn and walk away—leave the dingy hotel room that stank of cheap cologne and perfume—but he found himself unable to. Maybe it was the alcohol he had drank and maybe it was the fact that he needed a distraction, to not have to think—he wanted to be lost in something else so completely and entirely so he wouldn't have to remember the mangled bodies, the metallic smell of blood…

_Come on sweetheart, she purred. Don felt himself move towards her and the bed unwillingly, he wanted it but at the same time, his senses were screaming at him 'No!'_

_Come on, She gestured with her finger, signaling for him to come to her, and he did. _

_He had found the distraction he needed, but he'd also gotten more than he bargained for._

_The next morning Don woke before she did, and began to hurriedly dress. He regretted his actions now, but there was nothing that would undo that—he just wanted to get the hell out of there and to get the hell away from the woman that reminded him of his weakness. _

_As he buttoned his pants he started to look for his discarded shirt. Where was the damn thing? She stirred… Don froze—he hadn't been quick enough—she was waking up and now Don was going to have to deal with her. _

_Hey there lover, she cooed at him, spreading herself out over the bed, her blues eyes fixed on him like a hawk. Don didn't speak; he just looked at her, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this. Suddenly she noticed that he was half dressed and her icy eyes narrowed and glared._

_What are you doing? She sat up, were you going to just leave? She fixed him with a wicked stare. And Don winced. _

_Look, he started, I had a great time last night and you were what I needed but now I have to go…Don faltered._

_She had gotten up and gotten dressed while Don had been speaking and now she moved around the bed menacingly. Almost too late did Don catch the glint of the knife._

_Where did that come from? Don wondered, dumbfounded—then she lunged and Don barely got out of the way in time. Her face was contorted in fury and her blue eyes, those blues eyes, wanted blood. His blood. _

_Suddenly Don was frightened—he hadn't realized what he'd got himself into. She lunged for him again and Don managed to get out of the way once more and he made for the door. He wasn't stupid—she was armed and he wasn't—he'd left his firearm at his apartment when he decided to go drinking. He hadn't wanted to accidentally do something stupid; although now it appeared he was indeed ignorant for not bringing the gun with him. _

_He made it into his vehicle, closed the door and locked it just as she came flying up behind him. Don fished his keys out of his pants pocket, started the car, and drove away—the angry woman glaring at his vehicle as it sped away._

_Don was shaken, but alive. At a stoplight, he pulled a spare shirt out of the back seat. He was glad he always kept spare clothes in his car. At another stoplight, Don raked his hand through his hair trying to tame it. Slowly, he was taking single steps towards regaining normalcy—He was still shaking inside, but on the outside he was looking more and more normal with each stoplight and stop sign going to his apartment._

_As he pulled up to his apartment he briefly thought about calling someone—his parents maybe—well his mom at least; Don knew she wouldn't be angry with him. But Don thought about how although she might now be angry, she would be disappointed in him and Don couldn't take that. He couldn't ever stand the idea of either of his parents being disappointed in him. Charlie already made him look like the 'problem child' of the family and Don was going to be damned if he was going to fuel **that** fire. _

No, he'd keep it to himself. No one ever had to know—it wasn't like it was important or anything.

Looking back now, Don saw that this was the ultimate 'past coming back to bite you on the ass.' Hell, it hadn't just bit him—it was tearing him up from the inside out. Don looked at his weary reflection and thought, _what the hell were you thinking? How could you do something so stupid, something so low? _

Don pushed both hands through his wind-blown hair, and as he walked out of the bathroom it occurred to him, that more than anything he was disappointed in himself and that while family and friends may forgive and accept him, he had to forgive and accept himself—and that was distinctly more difficult.

In his car once again, he turned up the radio, trying to drown out the self-recriminating thoughts and found a song that seemed to speak to him.

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**A/N: Originally I had the song lyrics here but apparently that's a no-no now and I didn't want to get busted by Admin AGAIN.**


	5. Zombie

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, although if I did things would definitely be more…interesting…(Evil Grin Here)

A/N: Once again, all official processes and procedures: I'm making them all up. Yup that's right, they aren't accurate. Just wrote whatever sounded good. Flame at your own pleasure.

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**Chapter Four: Zombie **_(The Cranberries)_

Don felt refreshed after get a few more hours of sleep—he had wanted to just stay in the hotel but it had been nearing seven thirty and he knew that he needed to get the whole thing over with.

He walked to the front desk of the New York FBI office, noticing that it wasn't as well kept as the LA office. A few recent bullet holes in the wall that had yet to be repaired spoke of some occasion where some bold criminals had made a direct attack on the FBI. Don had heard of things like this happening, but he hadn't really believed it. Now he was extremely glad he worked in LA.

A blond secretary greeted him at the desk.

"Hello, can I help you?" She looked bored, clicking her neon orange fingernails on the desk.

"Uh yes," Don showed her his badge, "I was asked to come out here by an Agent Jack Wilson…I'm from LA." The secretary nodded and picked up the nearby phone, dialed a few numbers, then gave Don the 'just a sec' smile that all secretaries seem to possess as she waited for an answer.

"Ya, Jack—the guy from LA is here—you wanna come down here and sign him in?" She paused, and Don leaned forward expectantly.

"No, Jack, I can't just let him come up—you have to come sign him in—I know he's an FBI agent—he's from a different office though and you have to come and confirm its him or whatever. Yes. Alright." She hung up the phone and looked at Don, "He'll be down in a minute—sorry I can't let you wander around the building or anything."

"It's ok, I don't mind waiting." Don stood off to the side of the desk, his hands in his pockets, and wondered whether he should have dressed so casually. He wore a white button-up dress-shirt and jeans—he left his gun back at the hotel room—he knew he wasn't going to need it.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged man appeared out of the elevator and headed towards the desk. The man had on a full-suit, was of a middling weight, and had sandy blond hair that topped a craggy face. The man spotted Don and faltered in his steps for a second then recovered and strode up to Don extending his hand.

"Hello, Agent Eppes I presume—I'm Agent Jack Wilson—You can just call me Jack though." Don shook the man's hand.

"Nice to meet you, you can call me Don." The man nodded his head.

"Alright Don, how about instead of messing around with signing you in, since there's not too much you can do, well, yet—why don't we go ahead and go to the hospital where they're keeping the girl." _This guy doesn't waste any time_, Don thought, and approved.

"Lead the way."

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The whitewashed hallways of the hospital were obnoxiously bright, like trying to stare into the sun. The air smelled of disinfectant and illness. Don wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he stepped into the place.

"Do you want to meet the girl?" Jack asked him.

"Uh," Don hesitated, did he want to meet her just yet? "No not yet…I uh, don't want to go in there…not knowing…" Don gestured helplessly with his hands. The other agent gave him a sympathetic nod.

"This way," Jack spoke, and moved down one of the glaring hallways. "They'll go ahead and take a blood sample—they have the proper lab equipment to test DNA here—it'll take awhile but they get the job done." Don nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Soon, Don was sitting on the edge of one of the hospital beds, alone in a private room. Jack had left shortly after he had gotten situated. He'd said that he had to go do a few things back at the office, but he'd be back in the time that it would take to get the results of the test back.

A nurse walked into the room, and Don looked up expectantly. She was a pleasant looking brunette dressed in basic green surgical scrubs.

"Hi there," She spoke softly as she began to set up the tray next to the bed and Don fidgeted. He hated needles. Always had. "Ready?" she asked, noticing Don's pale appearance. Don nodded and held out his right arm. She swabbed it and then held up the syringe. Don watched her as she punctured his skin with the needle. He felt the needle go in and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Don't like needles much?" The nurse asked.

"Hate 'em." Don spoke curtly and briefly glanced at the syringe before closing his eyes again. The sight of his blood filling up the syringe was enough to make him feel woozy.

"There," The nurse spoke kindly, "All finished." She bandaged the puncture and Don looked at the syringe filled with his blood. Whether or not he had a daughter all depended on the information his blood contained. The nurse noticed what he was looking at and more importantly, _how_ he was looking at it.

"The results will take about two hours, you can wait in here if you'd like…" Don nodded numbly.

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An hour and a half later, Don still sat in the room, staring blankly at the wall—utterly lost in thought—he felt like some sort of zombie; not really all there but still alive in some respect. He didn't know what he was going to do if the test came back that the child was his. If she wasn't his, he had no worries—it wasn't his responsibility. But if it was his daughter…what was he going to do? Don thought about each and every one of the options. Foster care was terrible. Most orphanages were terrible. The thought of him raising a child was terrible _and_ frightening. Don couldn't win. He couldn't find an easy way out of it. _Serves me right, _Don thought, _I shouldn't be able to get off easy—my own damn fault I got into this mess._ What would he tell his father? His brother? He couldn't see himself finding any way out of telling his father and brother the whole story. If he called them up and said, _Hey guess what? I have a daughter now…_He knew the first question out of their mouths would be 'what about her mother?' or 'who is her mother?' Those questions meant Don would have to admit his mistake. His terrible, disappointing mistake—for the thousandth time Don wondered, _what was I thinking?_

Suddenly Jack Wilson entered the room, startling Don from his loathing thoughts.

"Hey, they got the results back." Once again, Jack didn't beat around the bush—he got right to the point. Don looked at the other agent and shifted uncomfortably under the other man's intense gaze.

"And?" Don spoke nervously, hoping and dreading at the same time.

"She's yours." Don sucked in a huge breath—he felt like his world was spinning out of control. He stared down at his hands. This was the hardest thing Don had ever faced. What was he going to do?

"Damn." Don muttered under his breath. He looked up at Jack, "I'd like to meet her—now that I know." Don's voice was soft and worn, any energy he had, had fled his body leaving him feeling like he'd been run over by a semi-truck. Jack just nodded, pretending to be oblivious to all of Don's inner-anguish, although his compassionate eyes said that they knew what the other man was feeling.

" This way…"

Don followed Jack out of the room—he was lost and confused and no one could save him from his problems except himself.

He just didn't know how.

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	6. Where are you going?

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

A/N: Ah sorry this chapter took me so long—I was going to write this chapter last night but my family decided to decorate the Christmas tree last night so any idea of writing anything was pretty much shot. I love Christmas trees…so pretty…. Oh and I recently found out that song lyrics are a no-no according to guidelines—so I'm going to continue to put song titles and the artist in the title of the chapter but no more lyrics—if you want to see how it relates to the chapter you'll have to hunt down a copy of the song yourself—or look up the lyrics is the best I've found) Brownie points if you can site the lines in the song that inspired me ;-) AnYwAy on to the chapter!

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**Chapter Five: Where are you going? **_(Dave Matthews Band)_

Don followed behind Agent Wilson, his stomach churning. He had an enormous dilemma and he had no idea what to do. To take the girl or to not take the girl; that is truly the question. A question that Don didn't have an answer for.

Jack cleared his throat as they were walking, Don snapped from his thoughts and made what he hoped was a sound of acknowledgment and not annoyance.

"Just thought I'd let you know a few things before you meet her," Don nodded as Jack continued, "We don't know a whole lot about her—there's a birth certificate on file as well as records of all her immunizations but no name was ever put on the birth certificate so we have all just been calling her 'Jane'—not that she ever answers us when we talk to her but we didn't want to just keep calling her 'the girl.' The only thing we know about her for sure is that she likes blankets…" Don felt his eyebrows rise as he looked at Jack inquiringly.

"Blankets?" Don asked incredulous.

"Yeah, she keeps sneaking out of her room and raiding all the other rooms for blankets—at one point the nurses thought she was missing but turns out that she was sleeping in the enormous mound of blankets on her bed." Don smiled a little at this, yet he was still plagued by an insecure feeling.

Suddenly Jack veered off to one of the rooms, turned and looked at Don.

"This is it," He said, pointing to the room, "I'll be in the lobby." With that the other agent turned and walked away. Don didn't know how long he stood there, just that it seemed like an eternity.

Finally Don mustered up the courage, opened the door and stepped into the room.

Just like Jack had mentioned, there was a huge pile of blankets heaped on the narrow hospital bed. Don took another step into the room and cleared his throat peering at the mound in a vain attempt to discern the child buried within it.

Then, startling Don, a small curious face suddenly presented, popping out from the side of the mountain of blankets. Don felt his mind blank out. Don recalled that he had seen Jack's steps falter when he first saw Don and now he knew why.

He was looking directly into the puppy-brown eyes of a miniature, female version of himself.

The physical resemblance to Don was astonishing—there were only minimal traces of her mother in her features. Don felt himself staring at the girl and realized as the child regarded him with a curious gaze, that she had no idea who he was or why he was in her room.

Don suddenly cleared his throat again, shuffled his feet and met the child's eyes again—_how do you tell a kid that you are her long-lost father? _Don wondered, frustrated.

"Hey," Don started, _Smooth Don, great start…_

"Can I sit here?" Don asked her pointing to the empty place on the bed beside her. The girl nodded without hesitating, but pushed herself back into her blankets a little as Don sat down.

"My name is Don," he said, holding out his hand to her—she tentatively took it, shook lightly then snatched her hand back into her warm fortress. Don opened his mouth to speak and then abruptly closed it again. What was he going to say? Did he even want to tell her that he was her father or should he just sign custody of her over so it was less painful for her? He couldn't take care of a kid…could he?

He glared down at his hands, silently debating in his mind what the right thing to do would be. He was an FBI agent, a dangerous job that required him to take risks with his life. Hell, he'd had to use lethal force more than once—would it be good for him to take her and then make her suffer and feel pain if something happened to him? What about his father and Charlie? If something happened to him then she would go into their custody—would he want to force that responsibility on them? But what if he didn't take her? She would get lost in the system—just another kid with no real parents. Don thought about his brother and his father—if he took the girl he would have to explain to them why he had an illegitimate child—he would have to tell them about Miriam. God, that woman terrified him—to Don she embodied his weakness—his loss of self-control. This child would be a reminder of that, yet Don couldn't bring himself to put her in an orphanage or foster care—in Don's mind it would be like throwing her to the wolves.

As Don agonized over this decision: this decision that had to be made, that required only a few words and a little paperwork—Don felt the tears begin to slide down his face. He couldn't stop them—he hadn't cried in so long and yet here he was, frozen by indecision, crying in front of a small child who had no idea why he was there. Abruptly, Don saw a small hand reach out and touch his hand, grabbing onto his pinky; the closest finger that she could reach from where she sat. Startled, Don looked at the small girl. She sat upright, the covers all wrapped around her, her shoulder-length brown hair in disarray, and biting her lower lip in nervousness.

And suddenly, Don's answer was there—so simple and so clear.

He had been in the dark and all it took was the one moment of kindness from this child to light up his path: to show him where he was going.

"I know your mother," Don began, his voice catching as he enveloped her small outstretched hand in both of his, "In all honesty I never really liked her much," Don gave the girl a half-smile as she cocked her head sideways in curiosity, "I uh," Don glanced down at his hands enclosing hers, sucked in a deep breath and forged on. "I'm your father, your uh, dad." Don finished nervously, looking into her eyes as her features registered surprise. Don felt her grip tighten on his hand. He wracked his brain—there had to be something else he could say—something that would make the situation…better.

"I didn't know about you at all—she never told me. If I'd have known I…" Don trailed off not sure of what he would have done—yet feeling that it was important to explain himself to the silent child.

Don didn't know what else to do. He stared down was his hands, holding her hand and he waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for—just that he needed to wait. Then he felt her hand relax and he felt her scoot out of her blankets and over next to him. He looked over at her with something akin to wonderment as she timidly laid her head on his shoulder, periodically glancing up at him as if to gauge his reaction and his approval.

Don felt his eyes well up with tears again, and he gave a short laugh of relief and he took a hand and smoothed her hair back as she relaxed a little against him.

_Maybe things will be all right after all, _Don thought as he watched the girl—_his daughter_, he amended—slip into slumber next to him as Don stroked her unruly hair away from her fragile porcelain face.

Hardship and confessions were in the future, but for now Don was at peace.

He was out of the dark.

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A/N: Ok what do you think? This was hard as hell to write—I wasn't sure how true to Don's character I was staying—I was trying to think about how he would react, and keep it emotionally realistic—it was very very tricky. Please R&R!


	7. Storms in Africa

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: **The Numb3rs characters are currently not in my possession—I'm currently working on an evil plan to remedy that however…muhhahaha!

A/N: Ok I have a pretty picture in my head for what I want this chapter to contain—let's see how close I get shall we? Oh and all official stuff—I'm making it up—same as always

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**Chapter Six: Storms in Africa **_(Enya)_

The three weeks following Don's visit to the New York hospital were hectic at best. 'Jane' had yet to speak, yet with Don's persistent prodding she was giving the FBI a wealth of knowledge by drawing, picking out photographs, pointing out certain people in a line-up—among other things. The paperwork getting her moved into Don's custody was getting processed slower than Don hoped. The fact that Jane was a key witness to an FBI investigation tied up the process some.

Don even worked on the case some.

He had been doing quite well handling all the things Miriam Wild had done; he managed to stay clear headed—well, at least until he spoke with her face to face.

He had managed to convince Jack that he could handle facing her in the interrogation room and after Don nagged Jack for almost three days straight, the other man relented.

Don handled himself calmly for most of the time he spent in the room with the woman. Her hating blue eyes had unnerved Don but he managed to maintain a straight face. That is until Don decided to try to pull a distracting technique by asking a question unrelated to the investigation; as well as answer a personal question of his own.

"So," Don asked, changing the topic abruptly, "Why didn't you put a name for your daughter on her birth certificate? What, you forget?"

She met his gaze, unflinching, and sneered.

"It's like having a dog," she began, her eerie melodic voice whispered, "I don't know about you, but after I have a dog awhile I get sick of its company and I go out and shoot it," Don didn't like where this was going, but he kept his anger in check. "It's so much easier to shoot a dog if it doesn't have a name…" Now Jack, who was also in the interrogation room, began to shoot worried looks in Don's direction and attempted to guide him out of the room. No such luck, Don was rooted to the spot, his jaw rigid.

And the Miriam just kept talking, taking malicious glee in Don's anger.

"She was the same way—she was just a dog to me—something to keep me company—I knew sooner or later I'd get sick of her and have to 'put her down' and I didn't want to make that any harder for myself by getting all attached by naming her…" Whatever else she was going to say was cut off, as Don completely lost his temper and went over the table and attempted to wrap his fingers around her damn neck.

Don had been keeping his anger in check, but when she started in on how Jane was just like a dog to her, Don just couldn't help but think about all the things he had learned about her in the time he'd spent with her.

They'd been living in a small hotel room and Don picked up on her habits relatively quickly—How she favored the color yellow and had insisted on the majority of her wardrobe being that color—how she bobbed her head along to upbeat songs on the radio when Don was driving her to a day-care facility—how she waited every night for him to kiss her on the cheek and hug her; acts that she never reciprocated but Don was pleased with the fact that she wouldn't go to bed until the nightly ritual was done—How she had frequent nightmares and the feel of her small hands shaking Don awake so he could sit on the edge of her bed until she fell back asleep and how after the third nightmare she stopped having to wake Don—He was already ready when she came to his bedside—all these things and more Don had learned and now, _now_ that Miriam said Jane was basically an animal to her that she was going to shoot sooner or later—well, Don just lost his temper.

So Don wasn't allowed to work on the case anymore, a fact that didn't really upset Don all that much.

The trial came and went in record time—Jane's account and witness 'statement' was more than enough to put all the criminals in question behind bars for a very _very_ long time. And now all Don was waiting for was the final ok on his custody paperwork, that and deciding a name to put on her birth certificate.

The day was bright and clear and Don decided to take 'Jane' to a nearby park. He watched her frolic around the playground and smiled as she twirled and jumped. She got so caught up in her movements—her own little dance—that she frequently got her feet tangled up together and fell in the grass.

The first time she fell, Don ran over to make sure she was ok.

By the third time, Don yelled across to her from where he was sitting, if she was ok.

The sixth time, Don merely made eye contact with her and nodded to make sure she wasn't hurt.

She never left Don's line of sight, and Don never lost track of her.

Don marveled at how each time she fell, she never cried out when surely any other child would have. She just got up and kept going every time, turning her face up towards the sun, enjoying its warmth and invariably each time, losing track of where she was going and falling once again. Down she fell and each time she rose again—Don thought about how in some ways the neglect she went through damaged her but he also saw her strong persistent personality shine through and that in some areas she was still a clean slate, untainted by the harshness of her mother. She had been through terrible storms early in life and now she was finally able to enjoy the sun—

Don watched her running and tried to think of a name for her. What he should have been doing was calling his father and Charlie and telling them about his child. Don grimaced to himself. He still had yet to tell them. Weeks had gone by and each week he called his father and each week he strained the truth and neglected to reveal the existence of his daughter to them.

Don pushed the thoughts out of his mind—he'd deal with telling his brother and father after he got all the paperwork sorted out. Don began to sift through names in his head, discarding them or mentally putting them aside as 'possibles' as he watched his daughter play.

Then Don watched as the girl, dressed all in yellow, fell for what seemed to be the millionth time and yet, once again, she got right back up and continued to run and leap—her face pointed towards the sky. The way she fell and rose again and again reminded Don of the mythical phoenix that would perish in flame and be reborn from the ashes, living for all eternity. Just like Jane's persistence to get back up after she had fallen, rising after each 'crash-n-burn.'

_Ah, that's it,_ Don thought, satisfied, _Phoenix…_

Don watched as Jane, no Phoenix, fell again—this time tripping in the gravel of the playground and not out in the grass. Don stood up quickly as he watched Phoenix's face furrow into a frown. She had landed on her knees. She stood up and then sat down on her rear and looked at Don, and even from across the playground Don could tell that she'd scraped her knee pretty badly and that tears were welling up in her little eyes. Don, anxious at his daughter's 'wound', ran over to her and scooped her up in his arms, murmuring reassurances to her as he carried her over to his SUV that was parked on the side of the road.

Her knee had a pretty good cut on it form the gravel; blood had begun to well up over the cut. He sat her down in the passenger side back seat and began to dig around for the first aid kit he always kept with him. Just in case.

He muttered a triumphant 'a-ha!' when he uncovered it and then set to work on repairing the offended knee. Phoenix sat still, not speaking, as Don repaired her cut knee. Falling on grass and dirt and scuffing her knees slightly was one thing but falling and cutting her knee on the gravel was another story. Don finished putting a band-aid on and wiped away the single tear that tread down her sweet face with a tender hand. He smiled at her.

"See? All better." Don picked her up and transferred her to the front seat, "Let's go back to the hotel room ok?" Phoenix nodded and buckled herself in as Don went around and got into the driver's seat.

Don started the vehicle and pulled out. He was getting the hang of this whole 'dad' thing—well so far anyway—Phoenix still had yet to speak; a fact that was beginning to worry Don.

_At least I have a name for her now…_Don thought.

"So," Don said to the child, "What do you think about the name Phoenix?"

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A/N: OK originally I was going to put another part in this chapter but I think I'm going to just stick it at the beginning of the next chapter as this one is pretty well wrapped up—R&R! Constructive criticism appreciated.


	8. Closing Time

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any Numb3rs characters (unfortunately) but I do own Jack Wilson, Miriam Wild, Phoenix and any other miscellaneous characters you don't recognize.

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**Chapter Seven: Closing Time **_(Semisonic)_

"Hey 'Nixie, ready for bed?" Don called to his daughter using the pet name that he had developed for her—she loved it and Don loved watching her face light up every time he said it. She'd never had a name before, much less a nickname.

Phoenix nodded with enthusiasm as she bounded into the bathroom where Don was getting ready to brush his teeth. She wore basic cotton pajamas—yellow in color of course—and bright pink socks. Don looked down at her and smiled as he ruffled her hair. All the paperwork was complete, Nixie was in his custody and they were going to be leaving New York the next morning, and heading back to L.A.—Don planned on taking his time; at some point he'd have to call his father and Charlie and tell them about Phoenix and Don was going to take his sweet time getting there after he called. Maybe do some sightseeing on the way back—for Nixie.

"Did you brush your teeth?" Another nod.

"Are you sure?" Don asked, feigning suspicion as Nixie giggled and nodded again.

"Hey let me see…" Don leaned forward and pretended to examine Nixie's teeth as she giggled harder, "Well quit squirming, I have to make sure you got all the fuzz off…" Don smiled as Nixie pushed at him playfully, still giggling. Don held up his hands like make-believe claws and growled—Nixie squealed in laughter as Don 'chased' her around the hotel room until he finally caught her, picking her up in his arms and putting her over his shoulder.

"Time for bed!" Don said as he gently tossed her on the bed, Nixie giggling manically all the while.

Don helped her under the covers and prepared to do the usual kiss on the cheek and hug, when much to Don's surprise she held out her arms to him. She hadn't done this before—previously she merely sat and waited for Don to hug and kiss her—Don felt his face split into a huge grin, as he reached down and hugged her firmly. He kissed her on the cheek and felt like he would burst into tears of happiness when she kissed him on the cheek back.

"C'mon, lay down now." Don ushered her under the covers, his voice only slightly thick with emotion. Nixie smiled up at him. Don affectionately brushed her hair out of her face with his hand.

"Good Night kiddo," Don murmured faintly as Nixie started to slip off into sleep, her large eyes drooping with fatigue. Don sat on the edge of her bed watching her until she fell into a fitful slumber. Don carefully kissed her forehead before getting up and lying down in his own bed.

Don stared at the ceiling; smiling as he replayed what happened in his head, until he too, fell asleep.

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Don woke suddenly in the middle of the night, not knowing why, just waking up and feeling that something was amiss. He listened—_there_—Phoenix; her breathing wasn't regular and slow like someone sleeping. She was awake. _Another nightmare…_Don thought as he sat up in the darkness.

Nixie had seen a lot of bad things happen when she was with her mother—so while she was never physically abused she was still haunted by the memories of the crimes she witnessed which were some of the most horrendous kind. Human Trafficking was no small matter. It was brutal and would even give _Don_ nightmares.

Don got up quietly and moved over to his daughter's bedside. He eased down onto he edge, as his vision adjusted to the night. He reached for her and felt a small hand grab on to his—he held her hand and reached for the rest of her. She leaned against his chest and Don could hear her shaking gasps and he could feel the tears that ran down her face. Oh, how he wished that he could take this pain from her—take it for himself so she wouldn't have to feel it. But he couldn't and he hated to see her cry. He just did the best he could—holding onto her, cradling her in his arms and wiping away the tears as they fell. He held her until she fell back asleep from utter emotional exhaustion like he did nearly every other night and just like every other night, once he was sure that she slept soundly, he gently eased her back under the covers and tucked her in.

Don lay in bed awake for a long time afterwards, just like he did nearly every other night Nixie had a nightmare. Nixie had hugged him and kissed him for the first time tonight; a huge step for a neglected child—yet she still had the nightmares. Don hoped that once she opened up this far that the nightmares would stop. It would take more than just one night of affection, sure, Don knew that; he just hoped that after a while, since she began to show affection that maybe the nightmares would end. That this new thing, this better thing, would end the old bad thing—or something like that, Don hoped.

He also thought about how he felt so protective of her, about how much he was really beginning to hate Miriam, about how he still didn't know what he was going to say to his father and brother when he called them, and about many other things.

It was a long time before Don slept.

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A/N: just a short in-between chapter to kind of show how there's emotional highs and lows. R&R! Constructive criticism welcome!


	9. It's My Life

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Numb3rs characters, not profiting, blah blah blah, you all know the drill.

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to post! Things have been hectic lately with the holidays fast approaching and I'm technically grounded from the computer but my dad works til the evening so I'm all by my lonesome—He'll never know the difference—besides it was an unjust punishment for something that I shouldn't have been punished for so there! Anywho this chapter, once again, is all for dramatic effect—certain aspects may be inaccurate. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.

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Chapter Eight: It's my life _(Bon Jovi)_

Don woke abruptly in the morning, feeling that he'd been run over by a truck. He slowly sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching his neck and wincing at the sore muscles. Once he'd fallen asleep, he'd slept hard. _5:06_—the red digital letters glared at him from the alarm clock and Don tried not to groan aloud.

He sat in silence for several minutes, attempting to figure out whether he should even bother trying to go back to sleep. Don let his mind meander until he decided on a course of action. Don grimly picked up the phone—it was the cowardly way out but it had to be done, _now or never_…

Charlie's cell phone would be turned off at this time and Don wouldn't have to worry about his brother picking up—he was going to leave a message and then turn _his_ phone off—if his brother or his father were angry at him, he didn't want to have that particular conversation over the phone. So, the easy way, although not necessarily the right way, was to play a tricky game of avoidance. _Might as well get it over with and maybe they'll be cooled down by the time I get back_, Don thought as he hit the speed-dial button for his brother's phone.

Hi, uh, this is the cell phone of Professor Charles Eppes, please leave your name, number, and a message and I'll get back to you…

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Alan stood at the counter in his kitchen preparing breakfast when he heard his youngest son's rapid thudding steps coming down the stairs. He frowned; Charlie didn't have anywhere he needed to be, so logically he couldn't be late…

Just then Charlie bounded down the remaining stairs, with what can only be described as a flustered expression plastered obviously on his face, carrying his cell phone in an apparent death grip.

"Dad!" Charlie exclaimed as he practically slid into the kitchen.

"What is it?" Alan asked, concerned and confused, "What's the matter?"

Alan watched, his anxiety increasing as his son started and stopped speaking several times, unable to make a coherent sentence. _Well he's in shock about something, _the older man figured. Finally Charlie made a sound of frustration and began to press buttons on his cell phone. Then, to his father's surprise, he handed the phone to Alan.

"Listen."

Alan held the phone up to his ear in puzzlement, and grew even more worried when he heard Don's voice. His surprise and puzzlement quickly turned to shock, as he listened to his eldest make a confession, left hesitantly and honestly on the cell phone of his younger brother.

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_Uh, hey Charlie…it's Don…I hate leaving messages but um…it just seemed the best way to do this…I uh…wasn't completely honest about why I had to go to New York and uh…since I'm coming back, I figured I had better let you know what the truth is…and be sure to let dad listen to this or tell him yourself…whatever…I uh…well there was this woman I knew…kinda…about seven years ago…I uh…had a …relationship…of sorts…with her and she was…she wasn't mentally all there and she was recently busted for being involved in a human trafficking ring and they had a witness…a little girl… they were trying to find her father and Miriam…the woman…gave my name…and I uh had to go to New York to see if this girl was my daughter or not………She is Charlie…this little girl she's mine and she's …she doesn't talk…yet…she was neglected…left alone a lot…I have custody of her now and we're on our way back to L.A. now…um…my phone is going to be turned off until I get there…I uh…don't want to really talk about his over the phone at all but I wanted to at least give you and dad a head's up…Well…that's it I think…that's all of it… I should be home in a week or so…Nixie…Phoenix and I…My **daughter **and I are going to do a little sightseeing on the way home…for her… and I uh………I love you guys………bye. _

Click.

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Alan sat down heavily on the nearby chair as a flood of emotions overcame him. Charlie sat down quietly beside him as his father struggled internally with wave after wave of various emotions. They sat in a dazed silence for along time, each thinking their own separate thoughts until the silence was broken.

"I can't believe Don didn't tell us sooner…" Alan spoke almost wonderingly. Charlie shrugged.

"I'm surprised," the young professor began, speaking slowly, "but then again I also had no clue that at one point Don was pretty much engaged to a woman—he's left me out of the loop before…" Alan looked at his son; he detected the hurt in Charlie's voice and he could feel his brow furrow.

"Charlie, he would have told you—he just never had the chance to when your mother got sick and then after that, Don didn't see it as being important…"

"I know, I know…" Charlie spoke, waving his hand dismissively in the air. Silence.

"We're avoiding the main issue here." The older man said, breaking the tenuous quiet.

"Yeah…" Alan's youngest made no move, and no other comment.

"He went through all that by himself!" Alan exclaimed suddenly and Charlie started, surprised by the sudden sound. "He shouldn't have gone through that alone!" Charlie's father continued oblivious, "He should have _called_ us—we could have gone and _helped_ him—that's no small decision! And he agonized and made it all on his own…"

"He _chose_ to make the decision alone, it _is_ his life…" Charlie interjected, pointedly, but Alan forged on.

"We're his family Charlie and we should have been there—we should have been there…" Alan sighed and placed his face in his hand. His son, his eldest son, of whom he was so proud went through a difficult ordeal—sitting and waiting to find out whether or not he had a child and whether or not to shoulder the responsibility—and Alan wasn't there to help him through it…

"It's not your fault, dad" His son's voice was soft, "You can't be there for him all the time and for whatever reason—Don chose to make this decision on his own and now he's bringing back a new member to the Eppes family—the grandkid your always nagging us for…"Charlie joked, trying to ease his fathers' tension. Alan chuckled and met his youngest son's eyes.

"Did you try calling him?"

"Left three messages." Alan shook his head slowly and then seemed to make up his mind about something.

"Let's clear out the back room—we don't need all that stuff anyway—convert it into a bedroom—if Don is going to take care of a child then he's going to live here where we can help—whether he likes it or not!" The older man rose with purpose and Charlie followed behind him, not sure whether to smile at his father's newfound purpose or to frown in worry for his AWOL brother, who had in tow a small girl who just inherited the name 'Eppes.'

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A/N: this was a tricky chapter—please R&R!


	10. Stand By Me

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any Numb3rs characters, but I did send a letter to Santa…

A/N: Woo-hoo, I've been ungrounded! Yay me! Posting still may be a little sporadic for a while due to the holidays and all that jazz. Anyway here's a new chapter for all you good little girls and boys:-) oh and p.s. all official stuff—made up, as usual.

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**Chapter Nine: Stand By Me **_(Sam Cooke)_

The dawn came on subtle feet, tingeing the morning sky with brilliant hues of pink and orange as Don and Nixie began the drive out of the city. Don marveled at the canvas of sky that looked as if some frustrated painter has thrown their bright paints across the blankness of the sky and in doing so, created their finest masterpiece. He tried not to think about the fact that the reason the sunrise was so beautiful in the city was because of the distortion of color by the smog—it rather killed the romantic notions of beauty.

Nixie sat complacently in her seat, only slightly groggy, as Don pulled into the gas station—the SUV's gas gauge practically howling at him. The federal agent grumbled about outrageous gas prices as he turned the vehicle off and got out. He watched with some amusement, as the girl, _my daughter_; he amended in his thoughts, hopped out of the vehicle and came over to stand next to him. She smiled up at him as his tussled her hair affectionately.

After a few moments Don watched the numbers on the gas pump and muttered as he managed to go one cent over the dollar mark—_Happens every time_, he thought and turned to where Nixie was standing next to him.

To where Nixie _had_ been standing.

"Nixie? …Phoenix?" he called out uncertainly.

Don frowned, _now where did she go?_ He walked around the back of the SUV after placing the nozzle of the gasoline pump back. There, she was kneeling back on her ankles in the middle of the gas station, examining what appeared to be a quarter; at least as far as he could tell.

Her name was on his lips when he spotted the suspicious man.

Sunglasses, baseball cap, long coat.

Don felt his nerves stand on end and his heart clench in some nameless terror, when suddenly, the unidentified man moved towards Nixie quickly, and grabbed the surprised child placing a hand over her mouth and nonchalantly began dragging her away.

For Don, time seemed to slow—he heard himself yelling—he felt himself running—he saw the kidnapper running—he saw his daughter's frightened eyes—

He couldn't move fast enough it seemed—he heard others from their vehicles yelling and running behind him—good Samaritans trying to help—it all seemed muffled and slow to Don, like molasses oozing out of a jar or a bad dramatic scene from a movie—a nightmare—

Then, in a single agonizing moment, his daughter bit the man's hand and gave an earth-shattering scream that seemed to rip through Don's entire being, spurring him to move faster.

"DADDY!"

Stop slow motion—move fast forward.

The next thing Don realized was the feeling of his body slamming into that of the would-be kidnapper's and then in another instant his daughter was back in his arms, shaken and sobbing and most importantly –safe.

He was vaguely aware of the fact that yes someone was calling the police, and yes he and his daughter were alright, and yes the good Samaritans of the gas station weren't going to let the bastard go anywhere.

It was all a blur—the only thing Don seemed to cognitively be aware of was the feeling of his daughter's small arms wrapped around his neck and her soft sobs muffled into his shoulder. He pressed his lips against the side of her head, reassuring himself that she was really and truly safe and he held her firmly in his arms, telling himself that he wasn't going to let her go ever again.

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A few hours later, the police allowed Don and his daughter to leave the police station. The man had been wanted for several other crimes and turns out it wasn't necessary for the two of them to stick around. The shaken FBI agent gave a statement to the police about the chain of events as best as he could remember and then he was permitted to leave.

Don sat in his vehicle with a weary and emotionally stressed Nixie sitting in his lap. He sat for a long time, absently stroking his daughter's hair and trying not to think about how terribly close it had all been and yet failing miserably to do so. Don felt the lump he'd been repressing grow in his throat and he swallowed several times, feebly trying to quell it and all the feelings it represented. Nixie rested her head against his chest and after what seemed like hours, her breathing evened out as she silently fell into slumber. He carefully moved her over to the passenger seat and buckled her in, allowing only one silent tear to drift down his face. He sat and with a shaky hand, wiped the offending tear away realizing all the wonderful things about Phoenix he was now growing accustomed to, and how in a perilous moment, those wonderful moments had almost been snatched away.

It wasn't until Don was on the freeway that he had two vital realizations.

One, his daughter had not only spoken, but had called him 'daddy', and two—somewhere between the time the man grabbed Nixie and the time it took for her to be back in his arms, Don ceased to have to correct himself that she wasn't just 'the girl' but his daughter. He had thought it would take a long transition to get used to the fact—that he would have to correct himself less and less until finally it was automatic but no, it hadn't been that way. In that single moment, that terrible moment of stark terror, Don truly became a father. All his paternal instincts had suddenly kicked into high gear and now it wasn't any effort at all for him to think the seemingly simple phrase '_**my daughter**.'_

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A/N: Ok—this was a tricky bit to write and feedback would be appreciated. Emotion can be a tricky bastard. R&R! Constructive criticism is welcome, as always.


	11. Sweet Child O' Mine

**Nixie**

Disclaimer: Me no own Numb3rs…so sad… 

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**Chapter Ten: Sweet Child O' Mine** _(Guns 'n Roses)_

The week seemed to traverse too quickly for Don—speeding by with all its emotional highs and lows in a flurry that rocked him to his core.

Nixie began to speak.

At first it was only little bits—Don greeted her the morning after the near kidnapping with his usual 'morning, sunshine', and was surprises to hear a small piping voice respond 'G'morning daddy.' He had been at an utter loss for words and again that night, before drifting off to dreamland she murmured a faint 'G'night' and he felt himself smiling at the sheer pleasure of these seemingly trifles of accomplishment.

Then it became small questions while they were driving. About a song on the radio, the different types of trees, where they were going—and she seemed so infinitely pleased when Don merely responded 'home.'

He learned that her favorite color was yellow because 'it's the happiest color.'

He learned that she liked animals because they 'love without thinking.'

He learned that she loved the sun because 'it makes everything safe.'

He stopped at every possible tourist attraction he could think of, to show her something beautiful when all she had known was ugliness. The closer they got to LA, the closer Don felt to Nixie and all her innocent inquires.

At the Grand Canyon, they stood side by side looking over the massive expanse of brilliantly colored rock and they marveled at its incomparable beauty. After a few moments of silence, Don noticed Nixie was silently looking up at the sky. He impulsively decided to sit on the ground beside her and after a few moments she followed suit.

The gentle breeze blew past him, running through his hair and he closed his eyes savoring the moment—enjoying the feel of his daughter peacefully sitting next to him as the light summer wind drifted by and sounded through the hollow expanse of the canyon below them.

"Daddy," Nixie began, breaking the companionable silence, "Why is the sky blue?" Don looked at his daughter amused as she met his eyes with earnest curiosity.

"I," he started, completely serious, "…have no idea." He grinned as the small child huffed in annoyance and gave him a shove.

"Dad-dy," she rolled her eyes.

"Wha-at." he shot right back, slinging his arm around her shoulders and giving her a playful shake. "I'll tell you what I do know though," he continued looking up at the sky.

"What?" Nixie responded curiously.

"See that cloud?"

"Which one?"

"That one." Don spoke pointing as his daughter tried to follow his line of sight.

"That one?" she said pointing.

"That one." He nodded.

"What about it?" Nixie asked.

"I think it looks just like a rabbit." Don met her gaze with a serious and somewhat straight face.

"No, it's a hare." His daughter replied quite solemn, her features completely serious. Don, caught off guard, burst into laughter.

"Ok, you got me, it's a hare." He conceded as the small child grinned proudly at him.

"What about that one?"

"Which one?"

"The one next to the hare."

"That's a turtle."

"A turtle? Are you sure?"

"Yes daddy, it's a turtle." Her tone of voice was painstakingly patient and so they sat for the next hour pointing out the clouds above the Grand Canyon and debating the various forms and shapes they resembled.

That night, in the simplistic hotel room, Don sat next to Phoenix on the bed, reading to her a children's story that he'd bought earlier in the week.

"Daddy," she began in what Don now thought of as her inquisitive tone after he had finished the story.

"Yes?"

"When we get to California is it going to be just me and you? Do we have more family?" Her open expression faced Don and he smiled gently, inwardly wincing at the thought of the soon and upcoming conversation he was going to have with Charlie and his father.

"Well," he began softly, "There's my brother Charlie—that's your uncle, and my dad who is your Grandpa—you'll get to meet them when we get to L.A."

"And L.A. is the big city where we're going to live?"

"Yup." He pulled a stray clump of hair from her face.

"And what are they like? They're nice like you right?" Her concerned facial expression tugged at his heart and Don smiled.

"Of course they are!" Nixie smiled sweetly at him, completely reassured by her father. "Your Uncle Charlie is the smartest guy I know," Don continued, "He knows a lot about numbers and math."

"Really?" The six-year-old's interest perked up.

"Really. And your Grandpa is one of the wisest people I know."

"What's the difference between smart and wise?" A curious voice wanted to know.

"Well," he began, thinking hard of a way to say what he wanted in terms that his daughter could understand, "Smart is when you are good at learning things, like out of books and wise is when you are smart because you lived through something." Don winced, not exactly the crystal clear explanation he was going for, but Nixie seemed to be satisfied by it.

"So knowing by reading and knowing be living." She nodded as if it made all the sense in the world.

"Yeah, well pretty close to that." They sat for a few moments—Nixie lost in her own little world and Don thinking about how he hoped that maybe tonight would be the night that his daughter would finally get an uninterrupted night of sleep—that maybe she would finally be free of the nightmares that plagued her still.

"C'mon, time to go to sleep." He spoke firmly as he stood up and tucked the child in, pointedly ignoring her somewhat disappointed look.

"Good night daddy." She reached towards him with skinny arms and Don hugged her tightly.

"Good night kiddo." He gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she returned the favor before snuggling down into the covers. He turned off the light and made sure the nightlight was in working order in the nearby outlet before climbing into bed himself.

For hours it seemed, he lay there staring at the ceiling, his mind moving a million miles a minute—he had had few nightmares about that morning at the gas station and he'd woken up past nights in a cold sweat. He never made any noise, none that would wake Nixie anyway and for that at least, he was thankful.

He didn't know what she dreamt about—whether it was still of the horrors she'd seen in the past or the more recent near abduction—all he knew was that some fear still shredded her peaceful slumber in the late hours of the night. –He waited for it tonight, like he did on some other nights. Don listened to his daughter's deep even breaths and waited for it to hitch and hasten—the first sign that the night would not slide by in ease.

Tonight however, Don was lulled into a gentle slumber at the rhythmic and constant evenness of his child's deep and steady breathing.

For tonight, for one night at least, there would be no nightmares.

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	12. Clocks

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** The Numb3rs characters are unfortunately not in my possession…so so sad.

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**Chapter Eleven: Clocks **_(Coldplay)_

Charlie dozed lightly at the kitchen table, his head resting in the crook of his arm, un-graded tests, books and other miscellaneous papers strewn about the table with almost more than half on the floor from the slumbering professor's outstretched arm. He woke abruptly at the faint clicking sound of a key in the lock at the front door, and he groggily wiped the sleep from his eyes.

Charlie frowned as he glanced at the ticking clock hanging on the kitchen wall—12:30—his still foggy mind tried to work out who could be at the door this late until he realized that it was a _key_ in the door he heard and the only person who had a key, coming home at this late hour…

_Don!_ The half-asleep professor rose from his chair nearly falling over as he heard the front door open quietly. He made his way out to the living room just in time to see his older brother awkwardly managing his luggage, the door, and a small sleeping child—her arms wrapped around her father's neck as he held her with one arm. Charlie stood for a moment, watching his brother, marveling at the fact that a child in Don's arms didn't even appear to be strange or out of the ordinary—it was like the little girl belonged there—

Charlie snapped from his thoughts, _why am I just standing here?_ As he realized his brother had yet to notice him.

"Hey…" the mathematician spoke softly as he headed over to his startled older brother, "Let me help you with that…" Charlie took the bags from Don and met his brother's surprised, yet even gaze.

"Hey Charlie" Don quietly murmured, "You get my message?" he had left another late night message on Charlie's phone that he would be returning to the house first, crashing for the night and then after talking with them in the morning, going back to his apartment.

"Yeah…" Charlie replied, still whispering.

"Is dad asleep?"

"Yeah…" They both stopped a minute, and just stood there—Charlie holding his older brother's luggage and Don holding his daughter cradled in his arms.

"Dad cleared out the back room," the professor spoke suddenly, pointing behind him with a thumb, "He says that if you're going to raise a kid that you'll need some help to begin with—wants you to stay and live here—at least for a while…" Charlie rambled a bit and Don's eyes softened and he opened his mouth to respond when a voice interrupted whatever it was he was about to say.

"I thought I heard talking down here." Alan moved quietly down the last remaining stairs before walking to where both of his sons were standing. "Hey Donnie," he spoke as he looked his eldest in the eyes.

"Hey dad…" Alan stepped closer to Don and the sleeping child in his arms, and he, ever so gently, pulled the hair from her face so he could get a good look at her.

"Donnie, she looks just like you!" the older man quietly exclaimed and Don let out the breath he hadn't realized his was holding as he smiled. The three men shared a silent moment, a moment of reassurance that yes, they still were and always would be a family and yes this new addition was welcomed with open arms, regardless of whatever history followed her. "Go Donnie, go put her in the back room—your arms must be getting tired." The weary FBI agent smiled and nodded as his father shooed him down the hallway. He walked slowly as to not jostle the slumbering girl, and in doing so also revealed just how much he was used to doing this exact thing.

Charlie stood silently with his father as they both listened to the faint sound of Don murmuring to the child and the distinctly higher pitched and sleepy responses that she gave. A moment later, Don reappeared in the hall. Charlie saw that his brother was prepared to launch into some explanation when Alan silently shushed him.

"Not now Donnie—it doesn't matter right now-go to bed and get some sleep, you look like you're about ready to drop. We'll talk a little in the morning ok?"

"Ok dad…and thanks…" Don shrugged with half smile, trying to convey his relieved emotions without knowing the words to say. His father merely shook his head and surprised his eldest by pulling him into a firm bear hug that his son reciprocated with no small amount of relief, things obviously going smoother than he'd anticipated. When the older man pulled out of the hug, he patted his eldest on the shoulder and gave a wordless nod of approval. Don turned to take his bags from Charlie when, unable to restrain himself, the young professor gave a huge grin and opened his arms wide. Don chuckled softly and gave his brother a hug as well.

He took his bags after the hug and stood for a moment between his brother and father.

"Thanks…. just thanks…" They nodded, smiling reassuringly and Don headed up the stairs, weariness spread over his countenance, leaving Charlie and Alan below with their thoughts and satisfaction that the missing piece to their home had now finally returned, including a new addition to their family.

Don and Phoenix were _home_.

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A/N: Ok when I started this, I thought it was going to be longer but I left out a couple parts that were in my head earlier and couldn't go back and put them in as it would make for an awkward segment. So-o I wound up with this—there will be more to the quasi-reunion in the next chapter—please R&R—I was struggling with how I thought the Eppes men would act in a situation like this (if I'm way off base I could always try to re-write the chapter)—all constructive criticism is appreciated and welcome.


	13. Everyday

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** I, unfortunately, do not own any of the Numb3rs characters—they belong to someone else (I am SO jealous).

**A/N:** So sorry for the long delay! The holidays are so hectic and I've just been bouncing from place to place with no time to write! Here is a nice fluffy chapter for you all! R&R!

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Chapter Twelve: Everyday _(Dave Matthews Band)_

The faded light blue paint of the bedroom made the room seem to resonate a twilight aura as the sun began to peek over the horizon, its light just barely gleaming from the small opening in the pale curtains.

Phoenix turned over in the bed and cracked open her eyes. She sat up suddenly when she realized that she couldn't hear the even breathing of her father or that he hadn't woken her up. _Where am I?_ She thought curiously. She leaned over the edge of the bed. Yes, there was the polar bear nightlight her father had bought her plugged into the wall. Yes, there was her bag propped up against the wall beside the door. _Where's daddy?_

Nixie thought hard. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in the car…after daddy had said they were in California…no wait…she remembered talking to him last night…

" …this is going to be your room. If you have a nightmare, I'll be upstairs, the second door on the right…ok? Ok, good. Goodnight sweetheart…"

That's right…_we're home!_ The child thought gleefully. She quietly hopped out of bed, intent on exploring her new home. Before leaving the room she clicked off the nightlight and looked out the window at the pretty sunrise. Such pretty colors. Right, on to the hallway. She slipped through the door and padded softly down the hall, her light footfalls barely making any sound, muffled by the fuzzy socks she wore. She heard voices speaking softly in the living room. She slowed even further, frowning as she attempted to discern the topic of conversation.

"…I talked to Merrick last night on the phone…I have to go in to the office later on to talk to him more…in depth…about the situation."

_That's daddy, _Phoenix identified his voice and she tiptoed, then crawled to the edge of the doorframe, peeking around the edge. Her father sat across from two other men, one younger, and one older, who sat on the couch while daddy sat in the armchair. None of them were seated looking directly at the eavesdropping post of a certain curious six year old.

"Well we can watch Phoenix while you go talk to him," The older man spoke definitively. She watched as daddy nodded his head, running his fingers through his hair. They talked for a long time (or so it seemed) about several things, most of which Nixie didn't particularly understand. Like what did 'responsibility' mean and why did daddy suddenly have a lot more of it? And what was a 'workaholic' and why couldn't daddy be one anymore? Nixie decided it didn't really matter. It seemed to her that the older man was giving her daddy a very stern talking to. She stuck her head around the corner, clumsily pushing her tangled hair away from her face.

"Good Morning." She piped abruptly when she got up the courage. Three faces turned towards the doorway. The younger man smiled when daddy's face lit up in a grin and the older man looked happy too but it was a different kind of happy. A satisfied happy.

"Morning Sunshine, you're up early." Her father smiled and held out an arm. She lightly padded up to him and then, occasionally shooting cautious glances at the other two men, clambered and squirmed into daddy's lap. "Hey, careful there!" he said as she slipped a little before settling, thumping her head back into daddy's chest as he chuckled.

"Not all the way awake are we?" Daddy smiled, pulling some unruly hair away from her face. She shook her head. "Say hello to you Uncle Charlie and your Grandpa, hm?" She gave the two smiling men a shy wave.

"Hey, how about this…" Daddy started, leaning over to look directly at his daughter. "There something I have to go take care of, so you can stay here with Uncle Charlie and Grandpa, and they'll give you the grand tour of the house, help you unpack and all of that good stuff." Nixie looked up at him, frowning only slightly, "And I promise they don't bite…" he finished, and Nixie offered a tentative nod. "Ok, go get dressed," he gave her a slight push as she hopped from his lap, "and don't forget to brush your hair!" he called lightly as she walked towards the hall. She gave an absent nod as she rounded the corner, happily beginning to hum some meandering melody.

To her six-year-old mind, things couldn't be any better.

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For what seemed to be the thousandth time, Alan noted that his newly discovered granddaughter glanced longingly out the window.

It was well into the afternoon and all things considered, Alan thought it had been a good day. So far anyway. He had made Charlie walk the little girl around the house after Don had left and was rewarded with the perfect Kodak moment of his youngest son leading his niece around the house, holding her hand. The opportunity had been too perfect to ignore. The older man managed to dig out his camera and, as luck would have it, there was still some unused film inside. Alan had snuck around the corner and when Charlie was pointing out some pictures on the wall, holding Phoenix's hand, he had clicked a picture. His youngest gave his father a withering look as the child spun, surprised and curious at the bright flash.

The day had been filled with the girl's curious questions; she was constantly inquiring as to what Charlie was doing and when he started to explain, Alan could tell she didn't understand a word of the mathematical nonsense that came pouring out, yet every time the young mathematician decided to stop because it was too complicated for the six year old, Nixie insisted that he kept going. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy listening to the complex explanations (which were highly simplified in Charlie's mind) as her uncle rattled them off. For the life of him, Alan couldn't figure out why.

So now, when he noticed yet another furtive glance towards the window, he decided that a little sun is good for a growing child.

"Phoenix," the older man began firmly, causing the small girl to start and sit up in chair as his youngest son regarded his father with an amused and curious glance, " Why don't you go play outside, it's a nice day, just stay in the backyard and be careful not to fall in the koi pond…" Alan trailed off as the energetic child practically bolted from her chair and out he door, leaving her scrawled drawing abandoned on the table.

"She's a sweet little thing, now isn't she?" Alan spoke affectionately after a few moments.

"She's bright too…" Charlie chirped, "I think she might have understood a little…"

"Charlie, she didn't understand a word you said, I think she just wanted to see how long you could talk mathematical nonsense without repeating yourself."

"It's not 'mathematical nonsense.'" The young professor huffed.

"Well not to you, but I'm sure it was to her." Alan pointed out with a smile.

"Hey guys!" Both Alan and Charlie glanced towards the door, as Don's voice called out. He entered the kitchen looking worn, but content. His father and brother greeted him as he plopped down into the nearby chair. "I had to 'negotiate' with Merrick about how much time I can have off and how much I _wanted_ off and blah blah blah…" Don waved his hand around in the air exasperatedly, "You'd think he was negotiating for hostages, I swear…anyway I'm going to take three months off, paid leave—I _could_ have had more but…" Don shrugged, " I wasn't too keen on trying to talk Merrick into giving me more—I don't think I really need that much time off anyway."

"Three months?" Alan nodded appreciatively, "I didn't think you'd be able to get that much."

"Yeah, well…" Don shrugged again, "So where's Nixie?"

"Outside." Both Charlie and Alan answered simultaneously.

"You tell her to stay away from the koi pond?" Don spoke as he rose walking over to the window.

"You know Donnie, I did raise you two boys—I am not completely helpless," Alan's eldest paused at the corner of the table and gave his father an amused look.

"Well," the FBI agent began, "there _is_ a slight difference between telling her to be careful to not fall in the pond and telling her to stay away from it altogether." Both his father and brother gave him a slightly perplexed look. "All I'm saying," Don continued, "Is that she's more likely to jump in than she it to fall in…she's gets curious about things…" He trailed off and then snapped his head towards the window as a loud _splash_ was distinctly heard. Don gave his father an exasperated look, as Alan's face winced apologetically and Charlie's face contorted into a look of amused astonishment. The three men quickly walked outside and were greeted by the most interesting of scenes.

There, standing knee deep, completely soaked from head to toe, was Phoenix. Charlie tried in vain to muffle his laughter as he witnessed an exasperated and amused Don jog up to the pond as his daughter proudly held up the previously unnoticed koi fish squirming in her hands.

"Look daddy! I caught a fishy!" She proudly held up the fish in the air to Don who now stood at the edge of the pond, his hands on his hips.

"_Wha-at is going on here_?" A voice spoke from behind Charlie and his father. Behind them stood the three other agents on Don's team—Colby Granger, who had spoken, Megan Reeves and David Sinclair—all who were regarding the whole situation with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"Hey what are you guys doing here?" Alan asked as the three agents came and stood beside them.

"Well," Megan half-chuckled watching Don, " we came to say hello to Don and meet the new addition to the family—we were at the door when we heard you guys back here. Now, please explain to me why is that little girl in the pond?" Charlie's amused reply was cut off as they Don and Nixie began to talk, a conversation they could all clearly hear from their post on the porch.

"C'mon sweetie put the fish back in the water."

"Can I name him?"

"You can name all the fish in the pond if you want just put it down."

"Why? Can't I take him inside?"

"No, I'm afraid not kiddo—fish don't like being out of water—see how he's squirming? He's uncomfortable. Now put him back in the water…"

Sighing disappointedly the child placed the fish back in the water as Don tried to not be too exasperated at the snorts of muffled laughter behind him. He'd heard his fellow agents arrive just in time to witness the absurd scene.

"Daddy," Nixie spoke again as she waded over to the edge of the water, " Why are all the fishies hiding?"

"Well, imagine that some person fell through the ceiling of the house into the living room—wouldn't you want to hide too?" The child considered this before extending her arms out to her father. Sighing, he didn't hesitate to reach down and pick up the sopping wet child. He turned towards the house and gave the entire crew of observers a deprecating look as they all nearly collapsed in laughter at the child's final farewell to the 'fishies.'

"Goodbye fishies! Sorry I scared you all by coming through your ceiling!" She called over Don's shoulder. The FBI Agent turned father now stood before the group who's repressed grins and false expressions of seriousness betrayed their thoughts.

"What's a guy got to do to get a few towels?" The now damp Don said exasperated, yet every bit amused as the others.

His father gave a startled jump and moved quickly into the house, causing them to all burst into laughter once more, this time, Don included.

It was shaping up to be a great day.

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A/N: ok I was thinking about having another one or two more fluffy/bonding type chapters (any suggestions/ideas of stuff you guys would like to read would be nice—I may or may not use the ideas but then again I'm kinda stuck—I need something to get my brain going.) Anyway after those couple chapters then I was going to have an angsty situation that takes up X amount of chapters before having a fluffy conclusion. Anyway let me know what you think—constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.


	14. Glad All Over

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** Ah, I don't own them…unfortunately…

**A/N:** Ahh! So sorry for the long delay! I kinda went WHACK- (thump) with this story…hit the wall and fell on the floor…stupid writer's block…then I had ideas of what I wanted to write but I went WHACK- (thump) again trying to think of a good transition.

Bear with me people.

Here's the plan thus far (just so you know what to expect): I'm going to write another 4 fluffy chapters followed by approximately 5 chapters dealing with a very angsty situation with another couple chapters after that to wrap it all up. So we're looking at another, eh, 9 to 11 chapters for this fic. R&R as always. Constructive criticism appreciated.

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**Chapter Thirteen: Glad All Over **_(Dave Clark Five)_

The day was warm and arid as the three men and one little girl finished breakfast in their kitchen, the windows open letting in the gentle dry breeze of the early summer day. It had been a week since Don had returned home with his newfound daughter and the three men were still making adjustments.

Don had to re-accustom himself to living with his father and brother, as well as take a crash course on how to raise a child, as told by a very wise man. It didn't matter how many times he told his father that he would figure it out; Alan was always ready with a nugget of advice. Don would never admit it, but he was glad that his father didn't leave him to figure it out on his own.

Alan had virtually very little to get used to. He'd been waiting for grandchildren for some time and now that one was finally present, albeit a little bit late, Alan was thoroughly enjoying the experience. If anything, he had to adjust to having both sons at home as well as a granddaughter and make larger meals.

Charlie perhaps, had the most adjusting to do. He learned very quickly that he could no longer leave his papers and books just lying around the house or else curious little hands would get into them and ruin his system of "organization." He also learned to keep his papers away from the child when she held some sort of beverage. The first time she spilled her kool-aid all over his latest mathematical project was when the two of them had been alone in the house, and the mathematician had been stunned and upset.

Charlie also learned that Nixie was very sensitive.

He tried not to yell at her, he really did. Yet his tone was more than just a little annoyed and his frustration was evident.

Needless to say, Charlie spent an hour trying to calm the child down as she had almost immediately dissolved into tears when the professor's voice had betrayed his annoyance.

At any rate, the trio of men made their adjustments and now, a week later, they were all getting rather comfortable with having a child around the household.

They were clearing the dishes from the table when Charlie abruptly snapped his fingers as some thought occurred to him.

"Dad," he spoke getting his father's attention. "The other day I found a box out in the solarium—I think it's some of your old city planning stuff—I wasn't sure if it was important or not since you're consulting now…." Alan frowned trying to remember.

"I'm not sure," The older man tapped his fingers on the counter unable to remember, "Let's go out take a look, shall we?" Charlie nodded as Alan turned towards Don and Nixie, "I trust the two of you can handle doing the dishes on your own?" His serious expression was undermined by the bemused twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh sure dad," Don spoke with mock-sarcasm, "Leave _us_ with the hard labor…" His father and Charlie chuckled, "yeah dad, we'll do them." The agent continued, smiling.

The two men left the room with amused expressions as Nixie began to drag a chair over to the sink, eager to help.

"You know," Don commented to his daughter, "In ten years you aren't going to want to help me do this any more…" The girl giggled.

"Sure I will daddy."

"That's what they all say."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Every other six year old in the world."

"Nuh-uh"

"Yes-huh"

"Nuh-uh"

"Daddy, you're silly."

"How did you find me out?"

"I just knew."

"You're so smart."

"I know."

They continued to banter, Nixie washing the dishes under her father's watchful eye and he dried and put them away as Nixie's manual dexterity was not yet worthy for handling the breakables for extended periods of time. They were nearly done when a smart comment from Nixie caused Don to flick some water from the faucet at her.

"Hey!" She put her hands on her hips and scowled as her father laughed. She placed her hands under the faucet and flung a handful of water at her father, giggling as it hit him in the chest and he pretended to be wounded, staggering dramatically clutching his hand to where the water hit as if he'd received some fatal wound. Such a dreadful wound called for immediate retaliation…

The 'water fight' was fully underway by the time Charlie re-entered the kitchen, the few remaining dishes lying forgotten on the counter. Alan was still in the solarium rummaging through the box his son had found.

"So who's winning?" The math professor asked, laughing at his damp brother and niece.

"I am." Don grinned as Nixie spoke simultaneously, "He is."

"Care to join?" Charlie dodged the water his older brother flicked at him and shook his head.

"No I think I'll pass and hang out here by the radio—you know how water and electronics don't mix." The younger man turned on the electronic device in question and began to fiddle with the dial.

"Chicken." Don taunted as Nixie giggled again as she got scored another hit on her father with the water.

"At least I'm a _dry_ chicken." Charlie grinned over his shoulder at the two of them.

"You're still a chicken—isn't he a chicken sweetheart?"

"A big chicken." The small girl nodded enthusiastically and grinned ear to ear as Charlie pretended to look hurt. She knew he wasn't really, and his 'wounded' face was funny.

The mathematician chuckled, and then bobbed his head animatedly when he came across a song he liked. He didn't notice the two behind him had fallen suspiciously silent until it was too late.

Don dumped half a cup of water over his younger brother's head, carefully making sure none got on the radio that the professor had been using as a makeshift shield.

"Oh that isn't fair!" Charlie spluttered, water running down his face as his older brother and niece fairly cackled with mischievous laughter. "You're _so_ dead." The professor moved with surprising agility and put his brother in a headlock and attempted to get his brother's head under the still running faucet. Nixie moved her chair out of the way and then stood next to it jumping up and down, snickering uncontrollably.

The two brothers mock wrestled for the child's amusement, both enjoying the sound of her laughter and having entirely too much fun themselves. Silently they managed to communicate a plot between themselves and suddenly, at the same time, they disentangled from each other and grabbed Nixie and carried her over, squirming and giggling to the faucet. They got her face within an inch of the water before her squeals of amusement became unbearably loud and they set her down, all three of them laughing.

They sat for a moment before Don leapt up and scooped up his daughter, twirling her around the kitchen to the beat of a lively tune that the radio now played. Charlie cheered them on as he turned up the radio until it practically blasted. The professor began to sing along to the simply lyrics as his brother danced around with Nixie who seemed to have developed an incurable and permanent case of the giggles.

The three of them failed to notice Alan who had come back inside through the front door. He'd seen them and all their mischief through the window and decided that he wanted to try and dig out the old camcorder and catch them unawares.

Sure enough it lay dusty in the corner in a box in Alan's room. He snuck back out to the kitchen pressing the record button, trying to suppress his laughter as he witnessed his sons taking turns dancing around with the small child who was having the time of her life.

Don held Nixie in his arms, the child was facing out from her father and her uncle had a hold of her arms and was moving them in an exaggerated parody of dancing. The delightful chaos in the kitchen was perhaps the truest fun the men had had in a long while.

"Hey!" Don called out, putting Nixie down as he noticed Alan peering around the corner with the camcorder, "_That_," he continued as Charlie and Nixie turned, looking at Alan and grinning as Don pointed at his father, "is _not _cool!"

The professor and the child dissolved into helpless laughter as the FBI agent dove after his father, vainly attempting to snatch the camcorder from Alan's hands as the older man ducked out of the kitchen with surprising speed, laughing all the while.

No one seemed to care that the dishes weren't done, or that there was water all over the kitchen floor.

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A/N: ok that was tricky to end. I spent forever trying to think of a good closing line. That was the best I could come up with. Anyway let me know what you think.


	15. Because We Can

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own them (cry).

**A/N:** Ok, another fluffy chapter 4 U! There are two more fluffy chapters after this one—my goal is that with all the fluff that by the time the angst comes around, you'll all be so sick of fluff that the angst will be ten times better :-) Oh and did I mention you guys rock? Well you do! Your reviews are all so wonderful! You keep reviewing and I'll keep writing—it seems like a good arrangement to me:-) Oh and does anyone know who does the song in Moulin Rouge called "Because we can"? I think it's Fatboy Slim but I am not entirely sure…can someone help me out here?

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**Chapter Fourteen: Because We Can **_(Moulin Rouge Soundtrack)_

The days seemed to crawl by and as much as Don loved his father, Alan was hovering over his oldest son and granddaughter too much. The FBI agent just spent another afternoon in the park with his daughter and was fully expecting when he walked into the kitchen to have his father play a surprise game of twenty questions. '_Did she scrap her knees again? How many times did she fall? You need to keep a better eye on her Donnie…'_

Don sighed. He, of all people, knew the vital importance of keeping his eye on Nixie in a public place like the park. He worked enough kidnapping cases to know _that_. And there _was_ that incident in New York…

But no one knew about that and his father insisted on 'reminding' him of the 'dangers of strangers' _every single time_ Don went somewhere with Nixie. The agent might still be getting the hang of fatherhood, but he felt that he wasn't _completely_ hopeless.

It was another sunny summer afternoon in L.A. and all Don wanted to do was turn around and walk right back out of the house. He began to sift through various ideas in his head as he entered into the kitchen. _The zoo? No too hot outside—all the animals will be hiding in the shade…can't go back to the park again…_

Don surveyed the situation as he was greeted by his father and brother—or rather greeted by his father. Charlie made a sound that might have been a greeting or he was just clearing some flem from his throat. The professor was up to his elbows on some new math project—he'd been working for almost a week straight now and was only stopped working when either his brother or his father made him eat and sleep. Don smiled as he remembered how Nixie had sat across from her uncle studying him with the same intensity that he studied his papers. She liked to look at people, but not while they were looking back—so when Charlie became oblivious to the world, it was the perfect opportunity for her to observe her uncle without being observed back.

He ruffled his daughter's hair, who was standing contentedly at his side. Abruptly, Alan broke into his son's thoughts.

"Donnie, would you mind running to the store for me. There are a few things I need…."

"Oh I see how it is—invite me back to live in the house so I can be your slave." Don joked and was rewarded with a low chuckle from his father.

"Nonsense, just hurry up and go to the store already or I'll be forced to whip you." Alan put on a serious face as his eldest laughed.

"Damn, well do you have a list then?" The FBI agent smirked as his father muttered and began to rifle through some papers on the counter. Nixie giggled as her grandfather swore under his breath as he vainly tried to find the list he was so sure that he wrote.

"It's here somewhere…." The older man muttered for the thousandth time.

"Hey, I need a couple things too if you don't mind…" Charlie had spoken abruptly and trailed off as the other Eppes men regarded him with a bemused expression, somewhat amazed that he had any awareness of what had been going on around him.

"What?" The mathematician inquired, entirely unsure of why they were looking at him so oddly.

"I have a better idea Charlie, why don't you go with your brother?"

"But…"

"No 'buts' young man—you've been cooped up inside this house for a week now, a little shopping won't kill you," Alan steamrolled over his son's protestations, "You don't mind do you Donnie?"

"Oh its no problem at all." Don grinned as his younger brother shot him an annoyed look.

"Fine…fine." Charlie threw up his hands in defeat. Sometimes, he knew there were certain things he just wasn't going to get out of.

"I'm going too!" A small voice piped.

"Of course you are sunshine!" Don smiled again as he regarded the eager child standing next to him. Even Charlie, as annoyed as he was, had to smile at the girl's enthusiasm.

"Ah-ha!" Alan held up the shopping list triumphantly, "I knew it was here somewhere—didn't I tell you it was here?"

"Yeah, yeah." The agent snatched the list from his father's hands and grinned over his shoulder at his father as he walked towards the front door, Nixie's small hand enfolded in his.

"We'll be back in a little while!" Don called as he, his daughter, and Charlie left the house.

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Don pulled out a grocery cart and tried to ignore the moping expression his brother had decided to adopt. Instead, the agent focused on a much cheerier person.

"Hey sweetheart, you want to ride in the basket?"

"Yes!" She nodded enthusiastically, hopping up and down in anticipation. Don swooped her up from the ground and placed her in the seat in the cart. Her little legs immediately began to swing back and forth as she turned her head in every possible direction, observing and taking in all of her surroundings.

"Hey Charlie why don't you grab a cart and go get what you need, and I'll meet you at checkout." Don suggested, as the professor huffed.

"I'll get done way before you do and I'll have to stand around and wait for you…" Charlie looked to be even more annoyed. The agent however, grinned. _This could be fun…_

"Is that so? There isn't much on dad's list—_I'll_ have to stand around and wait for _you_." Charlie's eyebrows quirked as he picked up on his brother's challenge.

"Five bucks says I can get my stuff before you can get your stuff for dad."

"You're on." The FBI agent held out his hand, and as they shook hands they both grinned. _As least Charlie isn't moping anymore…_Don thought.

"Let me get my cart first, we both have to start at the same time." The math professor held a finger up signaling for Don to wait as he turned and jogged over to grab a cart. He quickly returned and they both lined up side by side.

"Who gets to say go?" Don asked.

"I do!" Nixie chimed in and both men chuckled.

"Ok tell us when."

"Ummm…ok…ready? GO!"

Both brothers took off at a run and went through the first aisle together, Nixie laughing manically as Don rammed into Charlie's cart into a shelf and ran off ahead, sticking his tongue out at his brother's incredulous expression as he fought to get his cart disentangled from the shelf.

They lost track of each other for awhile, Don hurriedly pick out the things on the list as Nixie read it to him and Charlie just a few aisles over was pulling items off the shelf from memory.

They both almost ran directly into each other as they came through the last aisle. Don nearly tipped the cart, squealing child and all as he fairly skid around the corner in front of Charlie who was trying his damnedest to pay his brother back for ramming him earlier. The two of them slid into the checkout line, not caring about the stares they were getting or about how the clerk looked about ready to call security. They were out of breath and laughing. They had just about caught their breath when a pronouncement from Nixie sent them into another fit of hysterics.

"Tie! Race again!"

When they finally calmed down, they were halfway up through the long line and Don tired to explain to the child why they couldn't race again without most likely being thrown out.

"Why can't we race again daddy? That was fun!"

"I know sweetheart, but I don't think the store owners like people racing through the aisles…."

"But why?"

"Because they're old and cranky." Charlie whispered conspiratorially to the six-year-old. The child giggled.

"Plus we're tired." Don interjected before she could protest anymore. He knew that if he let her keep going that both he and his brother would cave in to her request. Who could turn down a sweet face like hers?

They were up the conveyor belt and were taking the groceries out of the cart when Charlie nudged Don. The agent looked at his brother curiously as his younger brother jerked his head towards the girl. Don didn't understand at first, until he realized that Nixie seemed to be staring at a display of medium-sized floppy stuffed dogs. He nodded at his brother, favoring him with an expression that said '_good eye.' _

"Hey sunshine, you want one of those?" The child jumped. She hadn't realized they were watching her. She shrugged, and looked down at her feet. In certain areas she was still uncomfortable and asking for things was one of those areas.

"Go ahead and grab one." Don encouraged. Her head came up and she peered at him for a moment, unsure, before reaching over and snatching one of the dark blue stuffed dogs as though if she didn't grab it quick enough, her father would change his mind. Charlie shared a sympathetic look with his brother, as they both realized that it would be along time before she was over certain habits she'd gained while in her mother's custody.

They paid for their groceries and walked out the door, laughing the whole way home because Don had managed to get Charlie to carry most of the bags to the car without him realizing it until they were at the SUV.

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A/N: Eh, I'm not so sure I like this chapter. It's definitely not my best one. I was really struggling with how to do the descriptions. Depending on the reviews, I might yank this chapter out since it's not overly important to the plot. The most important thing was the purchase of the stuffed dog but that can be easily written into another chapter. Anyway let me know what you think!


	16. Christofori's Dream

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: **Wish I owned numb3rs and despite all my letters to Santa, I still cannot claim ownership. : - (

**A/N: **OK change of plans people. First off, there was going to be another fluffy chapter here but after much deliberation I've decided to ax it—I might tag it on at the end as a final fluffy moment but that's still up in the air. This chapter is going to be mush moment + quasi-angst. Just a bit of background—doing a little backtracking. It was pointed out to me that Nixie's recovery was a little too easy and looking back I have to agree. Hence, my axing the planned fluffiness for something a little more substantial and relevant to the story; further more, I must give credit where it is due and say a little '**thank you**' to **deichtine**—I had a moment of inspiration reading "**Pitch Perfect**" and since I didn't think of it on my own, I went the polite way and made sure it was ok to use and permission was graciously granted—so Don playing the piano originated in that fic. And finally, the song title (in case your interested) is a pretty bit of piano from the "Pure Moods 3" CD—yes I know I'm a dork. Anyway—Whew! I think I've said all I need to. On to the story!

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**Chapter Fifteen: Christofori's Dream **_(David Lanz)_

The night was peaceful and calm and yet, for some seemingly unknowable reason, Don woke suddenly in the darkness, sitting up immediately, having the vague feeling that something was amiss yet not really knowing what exactly it was. He sat for a moment and listened to the silence as his eyes adjusted to the gloomy darkness of the room.

After sitting still for several minutes, he was able to pinpoint what had awakened him.

Downstairs, so soft that he'd barely heard it, were the faint strains of meandering, senseless notes being plunked on the rather unused piano that sat collecting dust in the remote corner of one of the downstairs rooms. The agent rose from his bed softly and made his way downstairs as quietly as he could. He knew neither his brother nor his father ever touched the piano and neither did he for that matter; not anymore anyway—therefore by process of deduction, he concluded that it was Phoenix, who had bestowed curious looks upon the neglected piano many times before.

He rounded the corner of the stairs to peer into the dark room. His daughter sat on the bench in front of the piano, her face an epitome of concentration, carefully picking out seemingly random notes. The more Don listened however, the more he was able to pick out the simple melody she was so carefully constructing; it was nothing recognizable to him yet, it was still _something_. He entered the room and was halfway to Nixie was she finally noticed him.

She stopped playing as she sensed him approaching and turned to look at him from over her shoulder. Don could see the small stuffed dog perched in her lap and his eyes had adjusted enough as well to see the nearly invisible treads of recent tears that had trailed down her face.

"Hey sunshine, couldn't sleep?" he whispered softly to her, walking up the piano bench and slowly sitting next to her. She nodded to him mutely as he took his hands and turned her face towards him, gently wiping away the residue of her tears with his thumbs.

"Another nightmare?" Again she nodded silently, scooting over and huddling next to him, seeking solace and comfort, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around her. She still had nightmares regularly, though she didn't always wake him up anymore. He'd tried to encourage her to do so, but the fact remained that some nights he would hear her pattering around downstairs, alone in the night until he rose and went to keep her company in her insomnia.

"Want to talk about it?" Another question he always asked, that always seemed to remain unanswered. She sat still for a moment as if considering it, debating it internally. She slowly nodded and regarded him with a hesitant gaze. Don returned her nod slowly and then pulled her onto his lap, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around her comfortingly as he leaned his chin on her slight shoulder so he could see her face.

"When I was living with mommy, we had this neighbor who was nice to me—she would invite me over when mommy wasn't there." She hesitated and Don nodded his head encouraging her to continue. "She told me to call her Nanna, but I don't know if that was her real name or not…but I'd go over there and she was so nice to me…she'd cook for me and she taught me how to read and how to add and subtract and about all sorts of things." Again, Nixie paused and Don could see her eyes filling with tears.

"What happened?" he whispered softly after she hadn't spoken for several minutes.

"I told her some things that I saw, and she got angry," the child's voice cracked, "I told her I was ok and that she didn't need to say anything but she told mommy she was going to call the cops on her…" Nixie began to cry, the tears sliding down her features, so raw with sorrow, "The next day when I went to Nanna's and I walked in the front door like I always did and…and…there were men that mommy knew…and…and…they had on gloves and they had a knife…and…she _fell_…and then she was _gone…_andI see it in my sleep, over and over—she was the only one who was so nice to me and I _miss_ her." The small girl dissolved, hiccupping muted sobs, remembering the murder of the only kindness that she had known when with her mother. Don rocked her back and forth, murmuring platitudes and reassurances that none of what happened was her fault and that it was ok to miss Nanna. Soon, he was out of reassurances and sought some other method to comfort his daughter.

"Would you like me to play something for you?" he asked her softly after she'd calmed down a little. She nodded gratefully, leaning her head back wearily as she clutched the stuffed dog to her chest. Don had not played the piano in quite some time, the last time being for his mother just before she passed away. He made a few light jokes when he stumbled on a the first few notes, earning a small smile form Nixie, but soon his fingers remembered what he thought he'd forgotten and they danced across the ivory and ebony keys with grace and surety.

The melodic tune softly filled the room, the notes gracefully racing to and fro as his fingers plucked out the first song that had come to mind. It was the first moderately difficult piece he'd learned, and it had been the last thing he'd played for his mother after the cancer had decimated her body. Don played the last few bars of the song, half lost in memory, unconsciously counting the beats to his daughter's rhythmic breathing as she slipped into slumber, her features lax.

He held her in his lap, just for a few minutes, pushing a few stray strands of hair from her face and wiping away the more recent moisture of her tears. He cradled her slack body and managed to pick his daughter up without waking her, carefully carrying the child to her bed and tucking her in underneath the blankets, making sure that the faithful navy blue stuffed dog lay tucked in beside her.

He returned to bed, his mind weary yet racing, trying to think of ways to help his daughter recover from the trauma. She'd been through so much and had come so far, so fast, under Don's constant love and affection. He knew he could get her through the nightmares—it was just going to take more time.

Don was so wrapped up in his thoughts through the whole event that he failed to notice for the last half of his 'performance' and as he carried Nixie to bed, that he'd had a silent observer on the staircase; an observer, who, once Don re-emerged from the girl's bedroom, carefully, quickly and silently, padded back up the stairs, pushing his dark curls from his face. When Charlie snuck back into his room just moments before his older brother came up the stairs softly, he marveled at just how far Don had come and how fatherhood seemed to suit him far better than the math professor would have ever guessed.

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	17. The Silence

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer:** Me no own Numb3rs : - (

**A/N: **Ok, last chapter I fixed "epitaph" to "epitome" (Thank you vocabulary nazis, I appreciate your expertise!) And so sorry this took so long to write! I had semester exams, and college crap to get filled out and sent in and blah blah blah. I got accepted to OSU, but I think I'm only going to go there a year until I can find a college that has a good Behavioral Science Major/Program (Know any?) So I've been poking around in that area. Busy Busy Busy! Then I needed a day to recuperate from all that busy-ness that I am so unused to (aka I needed a lazy day). But now I have returned with a nice long chapter for U! Official Business is all MADE UP. If it seems unrealistic, it probably is! R&R!

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**Chapter Sixteen: The Silence **_(Sarah McLachlan/Paul Oakenfold, possibly DJ Tiesto, Remix)_

The fading light from the sinking sun splashed various hues of orange and red across and reflecting through, the walls through the expansive windows of the FBI office as Agent Don Eppes flipped through a case folder nonchalantly at his cubicle. He had returned to work a week prior and had fallen back into his routine with only minor adjustments; it was like he'd never left.

Agent Megan Reeves watched the older man from across the room as he flipped through the stack of papers in front of him, ignoring the bustle of activity going on all around him. She folded her arms across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe, contemplating the small changes she'd seen in the short time since his return. He rarely worked late anymore; granted he had only been back a week but he adhered to some internal schedule with almost frightening precision, leaving the office by eight at the very latest and never coming in before eight in the morning.

Megan slowly began to walk towards her long-absent boss. He now had a picture in his cubicle, where before he'd been one of the few agents that didn't have any pictures at all. It was just a single photo, crammed way down in the corner of the wall above his desk, and yet there it was: a photo taken by Alan of his two sons and granddaughter sitting together on the front porch of their house. Nixie sat in the middle, a huge perpetual grin plastered on her face with a small navy blue stuffed friend in her lap, her father sat to her right, his hands interlaced in front of him, contentment gracing his countenance and finally Charlie sat to Nixie's left, his hands unwittingly mimicking his older brothers' with an easy smile spread across his face.

_Yes, _Megan thought, _The Eppes family has changed, and not just Don. _

"So Don, how do you like being back at work after all that time off?" Reeves spoke as she approached the other agent. Don glanced back at her from over his shoulder, not bothering to rise from his seat.

"I actually missed it—I'm glad to be back." He paused looking down at the manila folder that contained their current case, "Not exactly the kind of case I was hoping to get stuck with when I first got back but," He shrugged, "a case is a case." He gave Reeves an easy grin and she smiled back.

"Well we figured we'd save the hard case just for you." She winked at him and laughed as he groaned and rolled his eyes. Their current case involved a manipulative drug ring that resorted to kidnapping key law enforcement officers' children as leverage. It had been recently kicked over to the FBI as soon as the local P.D., by a stroke of luck, managed to get the, until recently, kidnapped children back in safe custody. They hadn't managed to make any arrests, but that didn't stop them from handing the case over in hurry.

"I just can't figure out how the kidnappersare figuring all this out," Don suddenly spoke, frustrated, shrugging aggressively, "I mean they know who in the P.D. has kids," he began to tick off the points with his fingers as he listed them, "They know where to snatch the kids from, and just how much they can push the P.D. and get away with it. They don't kill any of the kids, and they send photos of the kids with newspapers everyday to let the P.D. know they're alive and yet were unable to trace where the photos are coming from, whose developing them, where they are being sent from…. these guys are organized and efficient." Don ran a hand through his hair, effectively messing it up more than straightening it out.

"At least they don't have any kids in their possession right now." Megan pointed out.

"Yeah, well unless we figure this out pretty quick, there's going to be another kidnapped kid—these guys are too good to leave themselves without a shield for very long." Megan suddenly snatched the folder from the older agent's unsuspecting hands startling him, and grinned at a slightly bewildered Don.

"Enough about the case for right now, we've been discussing it to death all day and we will again tomorrow—now tell me…how are getting along at home now that you have officially achieved the title '_daddy_'?" Don snorted as Megan did air quotes, and relaxed, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm doing just fine," He said with an authoritative air and then lapsed into a light chuckle as Reeves gave him an amused, yet penetrating glare, "Actually, dad was beginning to drive me nuts so I sent him on cruise with a new 'friend' who he met at one of his consulting gigs."

"Oh, a 'friend'?" Megan's eyebrows raised and Don nodded, wagging his eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner.

"Yeah, so far it's going better than some of his other attempts at relationships."

"Attempts? That's not very charitable."

"He cooked duck for a woman who had ducks for _pets_."

"Well, look who's talking, Mr. Relationship himself." Megan's voice oozed sarcasm as she leaned forward enunciating her words. Don leaned backing his chair clutching his chest in mock pain.

"Oh, that hurts."

"Uh-huh, yeah…" They laughed companionably.

"In all seriousness," Don raised a hand up as they regained their composure, "Dad is doing really great, I just needed a break form him for awhile." He pause reflectively, cocking his head slightly to the side as he thought of something, "Charlie has been great too, he really had to get used to not leaving his stuff lying around—Nixie isn't the sort of kid you can chide for moving stuff around—she's just trying to help and she cries pretty easy, especially when Charlie gets annoyed at her. He can't help himself and his frustration just comes right through no matter how nice he tries to be."

"That really doesn't surprise me." Megan nodded, understandingly.

"I didn't think it would, you being the _psychologist_ and all that." Reeves chuckled but decided to let the sarcasm of the comment slide without retort as Don began to shuffle papers around on his desk, deciding what to take home and what to leave.

"Heading home?"

"Yeah," He glanced at his watch, "Charlie and I were going to make a team effort to come up with a nice dinner tonight and I said I'd be home around seven thirty—its about a quarter after now, so I should be going pretty quick here."

"Well maybe this weekend I'll stop by, that is if you still want me to talk to Phoenix about her nightmares?" Don's head popped up from the file he'd been glancing over.

"Yeah," He spoke, his voice only slightly betraying the deep concern he had, "Yeah that would be great." He nodded decisively as Megan nodded in return and gently squeezed his shoulder as she walked away.

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"Hey Lucy! I'm Home!" Don called out into the house with his best 'Ricky' voice and was greeted by a small hurtling mass of child, who suddenly collided with the agent's side.

"Daddy!" She hugged him and then gave him a reproachful look, "You're late."

"I know sweetie, traffic was terrible." He bent down, scooped her up in his arms, and carried her to the kitchen. Charlie was rummaging through the cupboards as his older brother entered the room.

"You're late!" The math professor commented over his shoulder.

"So I've heard…" Don trailed off, and set his daughter down in a nearby chair, removed his coat, and began to help his younger brother sort through their 'supplies.' It wasn't long before the amiable banter drove all of the agent's worries from the day away.

The feeling lasted all through dinner and all through evening right up to when Don tucked his daughter in bed, kissing her goodnight. Just seconds after the FBI agents' head hit his pillow he began to drift off, and finally before succumbing to slumber, it occurred to him that everything was as it should be.

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Special Agent Don Eppes didn't know what had woken him, but he knew that whatever it was, it wasn't good. His nerves felt strained and his heart was pumping furiously; he couldn't have said why or how, but he knew that something was certainly and inalienably wrong in the house. He strained his ears in the impenetrable darkness, listening for any clue as to what was awry. His instincts were on full alert. He carefully eased out of bed and took his sidearm from the nightstand beside his bed. He made his way out of the door, down the stairs, and down the hall making as little noise as possible. His heart was thundering in his ears, fear clutching at his chest. He knew that something had woken him; that something was not right. His greatest fear, the thought that kept repeating in his brain, was that something had happened to his daughter. He came up to her bedroom door, slowly easing it open.

"Nixie?" He whispered into the enfolding blackness. Don's mind barely registered the fact that his daughter's nightlight was off and that she wasn't in her bed when he felt the dark form of someone behind him. He whirled to face the intruder but not soon enough. The butt of the gun slammed into the side of Don's head, an exploding pain that quickly pulled the agent into unconsciousness before he even hit the floor.

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"Don!"

The agent groaned, his head encompassed by pain.

"Don!" His younger brother shook his shoulder again, worry and fear evident in his trembling voice.

"Charlie?" Don suddenly sat upright, and although the action made him dizzy, he stood up, using his brother's arm for support. "Where's Nixie?" Don voice held the panic that was splayed across the math professor's face.

"She's not here! Don, what happened? You had your gun…." Charlie's face grew more distraught as his older brother nearly collapsed as an indescribable internal pain flashed across his features.

"Oh god, they took her…" He faced his brother, wave after wave of horror, disbelief and fear passing over his features faster than a roller coaster ride. "I heard a noise…something woke me and it felt wrong and I came down here with my gun, just in case—I figured it was my nerves or something, that I was being paranoid! I checked her bed but she wasn't there and then they were behind me…" Don sat heavily on the floor, his brother sat next to him, his hands still firmly griping the agents' arm.

"I need to call Reeves…" Don mumbled after a moment of stunned silence, "I hope I'm wrong but his might have to do with a case…" The guilt saturated the older man's voice and Charlie stopped him as he began to head for the phone.

"Don, this isn't your fault ok?' Charlie couldn't explain it; he just knew he had to say it. His brother's face contorted in grief so severe it made the math professor's heart ache. The agent didn't say a word; he just went for the phone.

Just before his hand touched it, the phone rang as if with some supernatural knowledge.

Don hesitated then answered, trying his best to keep his voice level as Charlie stood to the side, anxiously fidgeting.

"Hello?"

"Ahh, may I assume that I have the pleasure of addressing Agent Eppes?" The voice was deep and electronically altered. Don's heart began to crash in his chest as if it was attempting to break free of its cage of muscle and bone.

"This is Agent Eppes." He gave his brother a meaningful look, and Charlie's eyes grew wide before he raced out the room in search of his cell phone.

"I believe I have something that belongs to you."

(_Nixie ran with ease and grace, her face turned up towards the afternoon sun_.)

"My daughter…you have her…." Don's voice was wavering now, and he was helpless to stop it.

(_Nixie's hair flew around in a tangle as the car radio blasted some tune, the windows wide open and her head bobbing to the beat.)_

"You can tell all the people you want but it isn't going to help you any; just remember that if any more investigation is done into our…. business…that unpleasant things will happen to your daughter." He felt himself being washed away in a blank wave, a lump rising painfully in his throat.

(_Nixie stood soaking wet, proudly displaying the ensnared fish to father, grinningly wildly_.)

"No, please don't hurt her…"

(_Nixie's face eased into calm as her father played the piano for her once again, gently serenading her into the sleep that was often chased away by bad memories.)_

"We won't as long as you do as we say…"

(_Nixie's uncertain tears trailed down her slumbering face as she dreamt of things that he knew she'd rather forget_.)

"She doesn't have anything to do with this—just leave her alone."

(_Nixie's look of utter terror as the man at the gas station tried to carry her away and how her little arms squeezed around his neck in utter relief once it was over.)_

"I'm afraid we can't do that, Agent Eppes." Don could hear the distant and mournful wail of sirens in the distance and he knew that Charlie had called Reeves or the police or somebody….

(_Nixie's sweet giggles of joy filled the air as he and his brother danced her around the room, not caring how silly they looked.)_

"Don't hurt her…" Don pleaded once more, his voice thick with emotion.

(_Nixie shook his shoulder in the darkness of his bedroom, waking him up like she promised to, her voice trembling in the night as he took her reassuringly into his arms_.)

"I'm afraid that's all I have to say for now. I will be calling you back. Goodbye Agent Eppes."

(_Nixie slurped the kool-aid noisily, bestowing a random cherry grin to her father and uncle_.)

"No!" The agent cried out as he heard the line go dead.

(_Nixie leaned forward and hugged her father tightly and whispered the words 'I love you' for the first time, and alone in his room he cried from the sheer power those words contained and what it had meant to him_.)

"They have her…she's gone…" Don murmured, dropping the phone as the dial tone screeched into the air.

He felt Charlie grab onto his shoulder but he didn't really feel it.

He saw Agents Reeves, Sinclair and Granger come in through the front door followed by the EMTs, and others, but he didn't really see them.

He heard them ask questions, but he wasn't really listening.

He was alone, drowning in an ocean of tears, unable to break free past the thought that his daughter, the sweet child that he now knew he loved more than anything else in all the world, was now gone, forcibly torn from his life just as quickly as she had arrived.

He was drowning, and he was alone…

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A/N: Ok, so I imagine you could see that coming from a mile away, but hey, I figure that since there's so many Don and Charlie kidnapped fics that this would be new take on an old idea. Or, I could admit the harsh truth that this is just what I felt like writing : - ) HA! Seriously, please review, I'm not too sure when I'll be able to get the next chapter up—I'll try to have it up tomorrow but it may not be posted 'til after the weekend. Just thought I'd give you a heads up!


	18. Mad World

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: ** I don't own Numb3rs.

**A/N:** Ok first, sorry this chapter took so long to get posted. Second it may be awhile before the next couple chapters get posted (about a week, two tops—hopefully less than a week) they are still in the outline stage and oh what a vague outline it is. I also have had a major amount of homework and I have to start doing scholarship essays…so those are eating up a lot of time, but I promise I'll try not to keep you in too much suspense. ; - ) **Oh and as always, official stuff I may mention is all made up.**

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**Chapter Seventeen: Mad World **_(Gary Jules & Michael Andrews/Donnie Darko Soundtrack)_

The flashing lights of the now silent sirens shone through the window casting an eerie and melancholy aura on the household. The pale luminescence of so many headlights illuminated the living room, and the splashes of blue and red added to the surreal feeling. The electricity to the house was out, the handiwork of the kidnappers, and so everyone was just making do with the impromptu light source.

Don sat by himself in a remote corner of the room, feeling like everything was moving so slowly, the dreamlike quality was so strong that he felt he would surely waken at any moment; that all his nightmares would be dispelled soon with the comforting light that the dawn brings.

His brother's house was a zoo—FBI agents, CSIs, and a couple EMTs that were trying to examine his forgotten head wound but they were met with a dismissive hand—one that allowed for no arguments. He sat on the stairs waiting for the hall to be cleared—and again he was struck with the unreality of the situation—his home, a crime scene. It time that seemed to crawl by like years, he watched with dispassionate eyes as his fellow agents questioned his brother who was holding up well despite the situation.

The scene was cleared. The CSIs left. There was no obvious evidence.

Unnoticed, Don slipped by everyone in the noisy chaos that seemed so muted to his ears. He slipped into his daughter's room and stood, just looking. There, in the light that streamed in, flashed in with the silent sirens, could he see the vague outline of her stuffed blue dog.

She had named it Mickey.

Don picked up the stuffed animal with trembling hands. He had asked her why the name Mickey but she had just smiled at him, replying that it was 'a good name.' He felt the soft plush fabric against his hand and he held it tightly as if it were his last link to that which he had lost.

"Don?" He heard Megan call his name from the living room and suddenly it all became too much. This dream, this nightmare, it became too real and it progressed with such agonizing slowness that he felt his heart would rip its way out of his chest long before the ordeal was done.

He was moving now, he didn't fully realize where to, just that the walls were closing in all around him and he had to escape or else he'd be trapped forever—trapped in some inescapable box of pain and darkness, in a box of night where the boogey man lived.

"Don!"

He wasn't sure whom it was that called out his name; only that it didn't matter—none of it mattered. He found himself outside, by the koi pond; his breathing was in ragged gasps, the tears falling freely now. No it wasn't a dream, not even a nightmare.

He should know better—things are never that simple.

He sat down on the cool grass, damp with dew and he knew the dawn was coming and that it held no peace for him, no reprieve from this aching pain, this aching fear. He clutched the stuffed dog to his chest with one hand and tried to muffle his now uncontrollable sobs with the other.

It seemed like an eternity; seemed like he had spent years in a black pit of pain, guilt and oblivion—when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Don." It was the third time he'd heard his name in the span of a few minutes. Had it been that quickly? To him the time seemed to crawl. His name had been spoken this time, not with inquiry as the first, nor alarm as the second, rather this time his name was spoken with a melancholy air, a statement of a fact that yes he did exist and he wasn't just some random dream and no this wasn't going to be easy or just some terrible mistake. Reluctantly, Don met his younger brother eyes.

Charlie sat next to him, his hand never left his older brother's shoulder, nor did his eyes ever shy away. Don wanted to reject the silent sympathy, the unasked for understanding that gleamed at him from the dark irises of his brother's eyes. Don was supposed to be the strong one, he was supposed to take care of Charlie, not the other way around. Earlier that night, everything had been right; and now everything was wrong, oh so wrong.

"Charlie," he croaked into the stillness, shattering the silence, taking his mind out of lethargy and placing it back onto real time, "It's all my fault…"

"No, Don, it isn't…" Charlie spoke in hushed tones, wrapping his arm around his older brother's shoulders and was more than a little shaken inside at how much the FBI agent was physically trembling; not that the slim math professor was ever going to let on—his brother needed him and he wasn't going to back down—not here, not ever.

His brother laughed a silent, humorless laugh, devoid of emotion except for the faint feeling of sorrow.

"You know, she almost got kidnapped in New York, I never told anyone but she did—I stopped it that time but not tonight, _not tonight_—what are the chances of the same girl being kidnapped twice Charlie? What are the odds?" To himself he murmured but Charlie heard: "What were the odds that I could save her twice?" The self-accusation screamed out in that nearly mute whisper.

"There was nothing you could have done," the professor tried to comfort his brother, as the agents' hand covered up his eyes, smearing the line of dried blood from the side of his head in with the tears that still cascaded down his face. "They'll find her." Charlie spoke with more conviction than he felt, "They'll find her and she'll be ok—she's a tough kid." He said again when his words fell on the quiet dark of the night. Slowly, slowly, his older brother nodded—it was a numb, hapless nod yet there it was; some single strand of hope that still lived deep within the recesses of hopelessness.

"Let's go back inside and get that head looked at ok?" Charlie whispered and again, Don nodded without any emotion. He was shutting down, slowly but surely, he was packing away the darkness, packing away the fear.

The two brothers went inside long before the sun rose, yet when it did, the golden light it spilled into the house in the quaint residential area gave no comfort and it revealed no truths.

The sun was up but the bleak night was far from over…

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A/N: whew, what a tricky bit to write! Please review and let me know what you think!


	19. Extreme Ways

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: **Numb3rs is SO not mine…. so sad….

**A/N 1: **Ok, first off, SORRY! This took me forever to write! SOO HARD! I ran **whack thump** into a brick wall on this chapter and I didn't think I was ever going to get it written. I was out of commission for a week due to a bastard cold that caused me to sleep excessively. I'm still recovering…at any rate this was a tricky bit; I'm not sure about the dialogue. If it sucks too badly then let me know and I'll pull it and fix it. As always**, official whatchamacallit is all made up. MILD SWEARING. R&R**.

**A/N 2: Ok this A/N is really pointless so you can skip it if you want**. It's not important. Really. It's ok. Further more (for those who are still reading this) I just wanted to rave a little about the "Running Man" episode so if you missed it, skip this part it has spoilers. Really. I'm serious. **Stop reading if you don't want to read any spoilers**. Now-ish. Ok? Ok. I just wanted to say that episode rocked! As you all well know, I had a chapter with Don playing the piano, so when in Running Man they found out Margaret was writing music, I was like 'ahhhhh! Someone better play the piano!' and then later when Don came in at the end and his mom's book of compositions was sitting on the table and he picked it up I was like 'ahhhh! Don better play the piano!' and then finally it was 'yeeeess! Don is playing the piano!' So can I just say that the Running Man is now my favorite episode? So, SO awesome! Ok I'm done now. I mean it. Really.

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**Chapter Eighteen: Extreme Ways **_(Moby)_

Charlie wasn't entirely sure what was going on.

He'd woken up this morning to the blaring screech of his alarm clock and had groggily realized that his brother was no longer in the house. They had stayed up late in the wake of Phoenix's kidnapping, and Charlie had slept soundly, both physically and emotionally exhausted and he was relatively certain his brother had as well. At least that's what he thought. Logically, Don should have still been sleeping, and the fact that he wasn't caused the young professor to wake up rather abruptly as worry pervaded into his being. And so, when he got a phone call five minutes later from Megan telling him to get his ass over to the office as soon as possible, and that yes Don was there—precisely why Charlie was needed, he moved quickly.

So here he was.

The lean math professor quickly lost patience waiting for the elevator, and went up all the many flights of stairs, skipping every other one. When he got to the appropriate floor he opened the door, walked into the office and was greeted by an… interesting …scene.

"God dammit! Just let me work on the damn case!"

"Don, you aren't allowed and you know that!" David Sinclair was standing toe to toe with Charlie's brother while Megan stood off to the side looking concerned.

"I can help dammit!" Don yelled furiously, running his hand through his hair aggressively.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked as he jogged up to the agents. His older brother whirled around to face him, his eyes registering surprise before he angrily turned towards Megan.

"What the hell! You called _my brother_ Reeves? What, do you think I can't handle the situation!"

"You aren't handling anything right now Don," the psychologist spoke soothingly, "Your daughter has been missing ten hours and you are in no shape to be here, much less work on the case."

"I'd be just fine if you would just let me help! I'm not asking to run the show, I just want to help dammit!"

Megan Reeves watched the older agent with a weary eye as he continued to rant and argue with Sinclair as his younger brother watched with wide eyes, obviously alarmed. Don's body language as well as his state of mind was beginning to really concern the female agent. His body practically titled back and forth on its own with unmasked anger as if he were teetering on the edge of some dark precipice and she could literally see each time the muscles in his body tightened. He was a ticking time bomb of misplaced rage and it was just a matter of time before he blew.

"Don!" Colby Granger walked up, as Sinclair was yelling, "Go home! You aren't going to do any good here!" David pointed towards the door with authority that Megan wasn't sure he felt and then—She tried to stop him, she really did but the time bomb blew and there was nothing she could do.

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Charlie watched with something akin to horror as he watched his brother lurch forward and take a swing at his fellow agent, hitting him squarely in the jaw. Both Charlie and Colby leapt towards the irate agent as David jumped up from the floor almost before he hit it. All three of them tried to restrain the other agent but he was a rampaging bull and they were just annoying flies. The four men were a tangle of limbs as the three of them tried to stop the fourth. Charlie felt himself jerk backward in surprise as he felt the a sudden swift rush of air on his face as his brother's flailing fist barely failed to make contact with the younger man's cheekbone.

As abruptly as the sudden chaos began it ended. Don broke free of the entangling arms with a sharp jerk and roughly batted away the other restraining arms as he whirled around and stormed away. He didn't bother with the elevator as he breezed past it, ignoring the concerned shouts of his name from behind him. He yanked the door to the stairwell open with such force that it crashed into the wall and slammed shut behind him as he began to head down the stairs.

The agent had barely left his sight before Charlie was running. He bolted to the stairs, determined to catch up with his brother. He failed to see how Megan stopped Colby and David from following, the female agent realizing perhaps that it was up to Charlie now to calm the older man.

Charlie raced down the stairs, barely using the handrail and jumping over the last few steps to each flight, nearly colliding with the wall with every leap, his breathing was rapid and after just a few flights, his muscles began to burn; still he practically flew down the stairwell.

"Don!" He called down. He could hear his brother storming down the staircase with at least as much speed as his younger brother, but sure enough Charlie shaved the distance with his frantic leaps over many of the steps and finally caught up with Don, grabbing onto his arm, preventing him from moving any further.

The agent reeled back onto the landing, simultaneously pulling his arm from his brother's grasp while pushing him away. Don paced liked a caged animal and shot his brother a furious glare.

"What?" He snapped angrily and Charlie fumbled for what to say.

"Don…. uh…I…uh…." The professor searched his mind frantically. He hadn't thought about _what_ he was going to say. He closed his eyes and blocked out the image of his belligerent brother and allowed his instincts to answer for him. Suddenly he was gripping the older man in a firm bear hug, clutching to him as if he would never let go. Don relaxed for a moment, just a moment and Charlie thought for sure that the battle had been won but in the next instant he was pushed away. He watched with mounting concern as his brother tried to muster up the rage he'd been feeling in the prior moments; the math professor could see the conflicting emotions clearly on the other's face. Then to his surprise, Don staggered back on the landing, his face becoming a helpless motif. The agent leaned back slowly against the wall and sunk to the floor as tears began to run down his face, his hands gesturing aimlessly and hopelessly in the air as he realized the full extent of his actions.

Charlie slid down to his brother's side, and pulled Don into his arms; the other man put up no resistance and allowed himself to be cradled as he sobbed with his inability to fix the nightmare he'd become ensnared in. The professor gently began to rock Don back and forth murmuring comfortingly, stroking his brother's hair desperately trying to help him and nearly crying himself because he didn't know how.

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Megan Reeves was shaken. She had _never_ seen Don lose control like that—_ever_. It was one of the scariest things she had ever seen in her life. He had been in a blind rage, and she had been helpless; she'd stood frozen like a deer in headlights as the two other agents and Charlie tried to restrain the older agent—she'd just _stood_ there.

She stood now in relative silence with the other two agents as their consultant chased after his wayward brother. She held an icepack to David's face with a shaky hand as he sat on her desk with Colby watching from the chair. None of them spoke.

Megan saw David's eyes move over to the stairs again and turned as she noticed his eyes narrow with wary concern. Don came through the door half supported by his brother, looking absolutely emotionally drained, and his eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed from obvious tears. The three agents watched the approach silently. The two brothers stopped outside the cubicle ignoring the stares of other miscellaneous agents who had seen the action and were already gossiping. The five of them stood in silence for a moment, the brothers facing the agents before Don spoke wearily.

"I'm sorry." He croaked out, as he gently pulled himself away from his brother's supporting arm.

"It's no problem man." Sinclair spoke without hesitation, as he took the icepack from Megan and tossed it onto the nearby desk. "You've got one hell of a right hook, that's for sure." They all cracked into tired grins, understanding that it was all behind them and glad that the situation was resolved.

"I…."Don began suddenly and hesitantly, his eyes beseeching, "I _need_ to work on this case…please…."He forestalled David's headshake, holding up a surprisingly steady hand, "I need to_ do_ something…. I need to do something _useful_ or…" He struggled for the words, "…or I think I might just…crash…._ please_." The older agents' face was pleading and Sinclair hesitated as Megan's heart ached for him—_the pain he must be going through_….

"Ok Don, But if you lose like that again…even a little bit…" David trailed off as the other agent nodded his head, relief spreading through his features.

"Well then," Colby cut into the momentary quiet with a feral grin, "Let's get started shall we? We have some rat bastard kidnappers to catch…."

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Don felt so lost, so perilously close to the edge—he didn't know what he would do if he hadn't been able to convince Sinclair to let him work on the case. He just didn't know—and the thought scared him. He began to flip through the mass of files that contained possible suspects, trying to narrow the list down and in the unnerving muted quiet, he thought, _I'll find you sweetheart—I'll find you and bring you home…even if it's the last thing I ever do, I promise I'll bring you home…._

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A/N: Eh. Not sure how much I like this. I might tear it down and try again. Let me know what you think….


	20. Deliver Me

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: **The Numb3rs characters aren't mine… just one more thing to add to my list of why Valentine's Day blows….

**A/N: **Ok first off can I just say how much v-day sucks? (Yes you are going to have to listen to me rant about valentine's day…. just because…you can skip this if you want…really…anything important I'll put after the bold print later on…. w ell its in bold print you can't miss it…. ok I'm going to stop now while I'm ahead….) I mean really, it's a nice sentimental holiday but its completely pointless—it's a way to make single people feel crappy and to make couple waste their money on useless crap. Most popular gifts: flowers (they die, waste of money), Jewelry (costs extortionate amounts of money and tarnishes), Chocolate (everyone is all 'health awareness' now and so chocolate make you fat and clogs your arteries…. plus its temporary…not a long lasting gift), stuffed animals (cute, but serve no purpose), and finally my favorite, cards (read it once, smile and throw it away…complete waste of money…easier to draw a stick figure and a note on a piece of construction paper…honestly)…. So while it's a nice romantic idea…it's a stupid stupid stupid holiday and it sucks. This holiday depresses me…. if you want to make me feel better and maybe even like v-day a little you should all leave reviews saying that you love me and my story…ok done ranting. **END OF V-DAY RANT…. quasi important info HERE---- **Official business is all made up in this chapter, as always—I'm leaving ch.19 as it is since it got positive reviews, oh and there isn't going to be much after this—maybe another one or two chapters tops…. last chapter and this chapter were bother supposed to be separated into four chapters but I mashed it together into two chapters because I'm beginning to loose stream on this fic. Oh and David is in charge because in Don's team, he's the next one who's been there the longest…if that makes sense. Also, not sure on the dialogue here, let me know if it sucks too badly. Anyway-- holy shit I'm gabby today. Ok, ok, I'm done…on to the story!

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**Chapter Nineteen: Deliver Me**_ (Sarah Brightman)_

Don rubbed the crease in his forehead agitatedly as his brother's voice began to pick up volume.

"Don, your daughter is missing! We need to call dad and let him know what's going on!"

"Charlie," Don began slowly, trying not to lose his temper, fully aware that it wasn't his brother he was truly angry with, "Dad still has a week left before he's due back home—I don't want him to worry and besides there isn't anything he can do here _except _worry."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't call him!" Charlie paced with a furious energy across the floor of the FBI conference room, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes flashing with annoyance and a hint of anger.

"Look, if we don't find her in the next four or five days, then you can call dad. Ok? Besides, it will probably all be over by then anyway."

The young math professor's face contorted in wordless frustration before he finally threw up his hands in disgust.

"Fine. Just…fine…." The younger man collapsed into the nearest chair, "why do you have to be so difficult?" he muttered as Don turned to leave the room.

"I'm not being difficult Charlie," the agent said halfway out the door, "You are."

" 'You are' " Charlie muttered in a squeaky mocking version of his older brother voice after Don left the room. The professor sighed and leaned his head onto table in front of him. The last five hours had been hell on his nerves. He thought he could handle anything after his Don's blowout, but he was unfortunately mistaken. His brother had taken on a headstrong and unflappable attitude since being allowed to work on the case and the phone call his brother received an hour ago hadn't made the situation any easier to deal with….

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"Eppes."

"Hello Agent Eppes, how are you doing this afternoon? Not too busy I hope."

"Let me talk to my daughter."

"Tsk, tsk. Demanding aren't we? I'm afraid I can't let you talk to your daughter just yet. You'll just have to take my word when I say that she's still alive, although she won't be for much longer if you keep working on this case…"

"How do I know that my daughter isn't already dead?"

"Well, now, that is the million dollar question isn't it?"

"What do you want?"

"What do _I_ want? What _I_ want, Agent Eppes, is for the FBI and all other law enforcement to stay out of my business. What _I_ want is for all the files on this case to be destroyed. What _I_ want is to be able to run my _business_ in peace. _That_ is what I want."

"I can't do that and you know it…. besides, even if I figure out a way to get all of that okayed and taken care of, how do I know that you won't just turn around and kill my daughter out of spite?"

"You'll just have to trust me."

"You kidnap my daughter and you want me to trust you?"

"That is a dilemma now isn't it? …At any rate, I'm afraid I have to go…I'll talk to you again soon."

"Wait—"

Click.

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So now, Don was a man on a mission. He was unstoppable. He took no breaks, spoke little, and kept an almost unnerving hold on his emotions.

It was seventeen hours after Nixie's initial disappearance before their hard work paid off.

"Don! We have a possible location!" Colby Granger jogged up to the older agent who had been leaning over his desk with a fierce look of concentration across his face. Don leapt up as soon as heard Colby's exclamation.

"Where?" he demanded grabbing his coat as they both began to move to the conference room where both David and Megan were working; Charlie had gone home the hour before—he'd needed to take a break and chill for awhile.

"It's a warehouse downtown…" Colby spoke just as the two men walked into the conference room, the other two agent's heads popping up at the sound of his voice.

"What's a warehouse downtown?" David asked, rising from his chair.

"A possible location for our kidnappers." Don spoke curtly.

"Here's the address." Colby handed Sinclair a file, "I managed to finally hunt down a couple witnesses who were paid to deliver some of those photos of kids to the LAPD—one of them finally told me about this warehouse—At first no one seemed to remember but with a little encouragement it 'suddenly came to them'—especially once I reassured them that any money the bastards gave them was theirs to keep. Apparently it was a rather large amount…enough for a lot of the witnesses to keep their mouths shut."

"Good work Granger." David nodded, as he studied the file, "Reeves go and assemble a team—they're never going to know what hit them." Megan nodded and began to head towards the door, but paused as Don spoke.

"I'm going." He spoke the two words with finality and a bull-stubbornness that seemed to make an impenetrable fortress out of the simple phrase.

"Don…" Sinclair began.

"Look," the older agent interrupted, "Either I go with you, or I find a way there on my own—I'm going…this is my daughter we're talking about…" The last part was spoken with an underlying plea wrapped within the words. David hesitated.

"Alright Don…but only because I know you'd do something reckless if I said no."

"Thanks."

"Let's go."

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The tension in the air was palpable as the team readied themselves outside the warehouse. The SWAT members moved with silent efficiency, and Don tried to remain calm and not fidget with his bullet-proof vest too much, the bright yellow letters 'FBI' reminding him that he in this situation he's a professional and not a worried father.

In the uneasy quiet, they gathered outside the entrance, Don following behind a SWAT member, and David Sinclair standing, ready, behind him. Reeves and Granger were with the two other teams at two other separate entrances into the warehouse.

Don felt as if a malevolent force was waiting just beyond the door; a sinister force that was waiting just for him—he felt the fear clench his throat shut, unable to stop the images in his brain, painting the picture of his daughter's death—the death that he truly feared—not his own, but hers.

Suddenly the walkie-talkie attached to the SWAT member's vest crackled to life.

"Go, go, go!" The voice shouted with ferocity over the radio waves.

It was like an action movie that had been paused was now not only put back in 'play' but in fast-forward. They surged forward as one and for a moment, Don wasn't an individual, not a single mind, but just one faint stream of consciousness in the mass that was the SWAT team.

Instantly, it was utter pandemonium.

Don's mind registered the voices that shouted 'FBI! Put down your weapons!' His mind registered that the weapons were not put down and finally his mind registered that they were being fired upon.

The firefight raged. This was a criminal den and they were all present and accounted for, not to mention armed. Don acted on instinct, firing as he saw guns aiming at himself and other members of the team. He vaguely noted in the back of his mind, seeing Reeves and Granger inside the other entrances, using as he was, the several crates scattered around the base floor of the warehouse for cover. He could feel Sinclair's presence behind him, the blaring gunfire surrounding him on all sides and he heard the occasional and distinct sound of reloading.

Abruptly, in the bedlam, Don's world stopped.

He heard a scream.

He saw her run out into the open, away from the kidnappers.

Nixie.

It all became a nightmare.

Don felt himself suddenly moving, not really aware of his decision to move at all; he bolted out with seemingly agonizing slowness, racing towards his daughter, his heart thundering in his chest, his muscles taunt as he ran. The gunfire continued all around him and he saw, with painstaking clearness, the detail of the shards and splinters of the crates flying through the air as they were slowly but surely demolished, pulverized by the raining bullets. He knew the gunfire was loud, but his ears ceased to hear—it was all muted, dampened as his vision narrowed on the small child who was now just a few feet before him, frozen in place as hell reigned all around her. He was vaguely aware of anxious shouts but they were wordless to his ears; his vision blurred and he prayed that he would make it in time; it was all so surreal, that he thought; _ah_**, now**_ I will waken from this dream._

It wasn't true, as much as he wished it were.

Then, he was there, and he slid towards her, still moving so, so terribly slow! And then she was in his arms, shaking and crying, shrieking with every bullet that ricocheted near them. He sheltered her small body with his, not willing to risk moving her, not willing to race towards cover, afraid—no—terrified, that she should catch a stray bullet—so _he_ was her shield.

She wailed in terror when he felt the bullet slam into his vest and he knew that she had felt it too and knew what it meant. His back ached where impact had been and he held her closer. She sobbed now as he cradled her, and he made no sound as another bullet struck him, this time into his unprotected shoulder; the piercing pain lanced down his arm, and in the haze that now engulfed him, he felt the oozing liquid of his own blood run down his arm, dampening his sleeve. Everything had long ago ceased to have any clarity, all the lines and angles blurred together in the air that was turbulent with gunfire. His senses were muddled and his vision was obscure at best and all that ran through his mind was a single thought: _keep her safe._

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Suddenly, after what had seemed like hours, it was over.

He first noticed the explosive sounds of gunfire were now absent, and he could now feel the wild beating of his daughter's heart as he still clutched her to his chest, her hands grasping the edges of his vest with all her strength. In the disorder and chaos, he heard a voice call his name as he stroked his daughter's hair and murmured reassuringly.

"Don!"

He felt himself being pulled to his feet and he picked up Nixie in his arms, not willing to let go just yet, still scarcely able to believe that he had her back again. He heard words being spoken by someone…someone he knew…David! But it didn't matter what he was saying—he allowed himself to be guided outside the warehouse and refused to let go of the child. Soon however, his legs gave out and his surroundings became even more indefinite. He couldn't remember how many times he'd been shot, or if he'd been shot again past what he recalled. He was vaguely aware as Nixie was removed from his arms, and at first he protested, until he saw Megan's concerned face looking at his. He whispered reassuringly to his child once more before he was loaded onto the ambulance—when did it get here? And when was he put on a stretcher? He couldn't remember….

The last thing he saw, before his world collapsed into darkness, was his daughter's face, Nixie's face, leaning over his, her tears streaking down her face, her eyes red and exhausted, yet shining with some confirmation of some untouchable faith—an unshakable faith—in him.

He faintly heard the melancholy chorus of the sirens as he slid into blackness.

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A/N: the only thing I'm iffy on here is the dialogue. Let me know what you think.


	21. Now We Are Free

**Nixie**

**Disclaimer: **Numb3rs characters are not mine.

**A/N: **OK, REALLY sorry for the delay. I feel so guilty when it takes me longer than a week to update—and its been over two weeks so I'm feeling double the guilt; I swear the world was conspiring against me, not to mention writer's block—I'm just having mungo trouble trying to decide how to wrap this up. I'm definitely running on the big E. I experimented with style a little on this chapter. I hope you like it. Anyway, all official business and medical stuff is all made up…. that's right I'm pulling it straight from thin air—Enjoy!

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**Chapter Twenty: Now We Are Free **_(Enya (I think)/ Gladiator Theme)_

_Beep._

Don's brain faintly recognized the seemingly distant electronic pulse of the heart monitor.

_Beep._

He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, but he couldn't move his body much, if at all and his vision was in a drug-induced haze.

_Beep._

He felt like his entire body was on fire and his right arm was beyond even fire.

_Beep. Beep._

_(Strange, the pain is beginning to fade…)_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_(Mom? Is that you? What's happening?)_

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _

_(It hurts so bad…is this…is this the end?)_

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _

_(Mom, I tried, is she all right? Is my daughter all right? I need to know. I can't go yet…)_

_Beeeeeeeeep._

For one instant it seemed, Don was an ethereal being, corporally floating above his body looking down.

_(I look terrible…)_

He watched as the bodies below him seemed to move so sluggishly, just faces and masses, nothing important, there was something calling him…. something far away…He turned towards it but something stopped him….

Don!

_(What?)_

"Don!"

_(Charlie?)_

"Daddy!"

_(Nixie!)_

Suddenly he was back in his body, aflame with wracking pain; his consciousness still muddled he saw his brother and daughter through hazy eyes—he saw there relieved faces and their tears. He reached for them—brushed his hand against his daughter's nearby face.

"Don't worry, I wasn' goin' 'nywhere." He slurred before once more slipping into unconsciousness, lulled by the now steady pulse of the electronic device beside his bed.

_Beep. _

_Beep._

_Beep._

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The hospital was dark with only the faint artificial twilight of fluorescent lighting when Don woke for the second time. His mind was clearer and he vaguely recalled waking up before and in significantly more pain. He winced as his eyes adjusted to the light and began to look, slowly, observe his surroundings.

He tried not to start when he saw his father sleeping in a chair to the right of his hospital bed, but he jumped a little in surprise anyway and spent several minutes vainly attempting to not make any noise as various aches and pains coursed through his body.

_How long have I been out? _Don wondered. Last time he was conscious there was still a week before his father was due back home and even if Charlie called him it still would have taken at least a day or two for Alan to get back to L.A. _So_, he thought_, I've been out of it for one day, maybe two, minimum. _

Don regarded the slumbering figure of his father, with a critical eye; well as critical as possible with the amount of drugs in his system; his father's chin rested on his chest and his arms were folded tensely across his chest. To Don it appeared as if it had been several days since he'd had a decent night's sleep.

The agent heard a faint murmur to his left and carefully turned his attention in that direction; careful not to move any more than was necessary. He couldn't help but smile, as weary as he was, when he saw his younger brother sprawled back in a chair as far back as he possibly could without falling out of it, Nixie curled up in his lap. _Looks like they've done some Uncle-niece bonding_, Don thought with approval.

"Donnie!" A hushed exclamation from the agent's father caused him to jump a little, a whip his head around to his right, an action he immediately regretted as he grimaced in pain. He was greeted by his father's weary and concerned face as the older man anxiously pressed the call button. "You had me very worried young man." Alan chided his son in a serious whisper, grasping onto Don' hand.

"Well, I had me worried too." Don grunted through the pain as he attempted a half-hearted smile. Alan returned the smile with no small degree of wariness permeating from his countenancer as a nurse briskly entered the room.

"Well hello to you sunshine." The nurse spoke with a friendly southern lilt to her voice and began to check Don's vitals. "You're fever has broken—a good sign—you had a pretty nasty infection to that bullet wound you had, as well as quite a bit of bruising."

"How long was I out for?" the injured agent inquired.

"Four days."

"Damn." Don felt his eyebrows arch appreciatively. He hadn't thought he'd been under for _that_ long.

"Like I said, you had us worried." Alan smiled at his son's surprise.

"Boy, those two are sleeping pretty soundly aren't they?" the nurse commented referring to the sleeping math professor and child.

At that moment, Nixie began to stir, wriggling around in her sleep as she slowly came to consciousness.

"Speak of the devil." Don murmured affectionately. The small girl awoke and sleepily rubbed the grit from her eyes until she, quite suddenly, noticed that her father was awake and bestowing a large grin in her direction.

"Daddy!" She shrieked in surprise and joy, leaping up and going to the side of the bed and carefully clambered up to wrap her skinny arms around his neck in a tremendously relieved hug. At the same time, Charlie woke at Nixie's screech and dramatically, as well as unceremoniously, crashed from the chair to the floor.

"Don!" He exclaimed, jumping up from the floor, "Oh, god we thought we'd lost you for awhile there…" He struggled for the words and came up short, running his hand through his hair. Don reached for his brother with his uninjured arm, Nixie still clutching onto him, her face buried in his neck. Charlie moved to the bedside and leaned in to give his brother a cautious hug.

The nurse watched with a certain bemusement and though she had briefly thought that maybe she should interfere and remove the child and professor from the patient, it seemed that Don Eppes needed the contact as much as his family did, and she decided to let it slide. For a while at least.

"Ok, I'm going to go get the doctor so he can make an assessment and I suggest that perhaps before he arrives that there is only one person on the bed." The nurse winked as Don grinned and Charlie stood up sheepishly, taking a step back from the bed. The nurse ambled out of the room, and Don ruffled his daughter's hair.

"C'mon, time to hop down." She shook her head ferociously and held on tighter.

"Yes. C'mon.' He nudged her but again she shook her head violently.

"I'm not going anywhere sweetheart. It's ok, really." She looked at him with large eyes, hesitating, and Don realized that besides calling for him when he woke, she had been suspiciously silent. He glanced inquisitively towards his father, and Alan anticipated what his son was asking with his eyes.

"Not a word Donnie—not a word." Don sighed and gave his daughter a beseeching look, 'puppy eyes look' Nixie called it. The small girl gave a small smile and a sigh before carefully climbing down from the bed. Charlie held out his arms to the child and she seemed to think for a moment before responding and reciprocating the gesture. The math professor scooped her up from the ground.

As the doctor walked in, and as he went through the list of Don's injuries and all the complications, the agent new that there was a long road up ahead of him; it was going to take time for him to recover from his physical injuries and it was going to take even more time for Nixie to recover from her emotional wounds. And yet, _and yet_, as Don looked at his father's face, his brother's and lastly his daughter's; he knew that they were truly a family know; forged and tested by adversity and that this would just be one more obstacle that they would overcome.

Together.

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A/N: Do you think I should add an epilogue or just leave it as it is…. I'm not sure what I would out in an epilogue so if I do write one it might take awhile before it's posted. Let me know what you think!


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